


Stark's Moving Castle

by lomku



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (ehehe did you get it), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, more to be added? please tell me if you think I can add tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 61,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lomku/pseuds/lomku
Summary: Steve has the great misfortune of being the eldest son of the family, destined to fail miserably should he ever leave home to seek his fate. But when he unwittingly attracts the ire of the Witch of the Waste, Steve finds himself under a horrid spell that transforms him into a small and fragile man. His only chance at breaking the curse lies in the ever-moving castle in the hills: the Wizard Stark's castle. To untangle the enchantment, Steve must handle the heartless Stark, strike a bargain with a fire demon, and meet the Witch of the Waste head-on. Along the way, he discovers that there's far more to Stark--and himself--than first meets the eye.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 160
Kudos: 142
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/gifts), [MiniRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniRaven/gifts), [Leshaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshaya/gifts), [InsaneBlueGenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneBlueGenius/gifts).



> This is my fill for the MTH 2019 auction. Thank you to my bidders; ishipallthings, BlueGenius, MiniRaven and Leshaya!  
> They asked for a Howl's Moving Castle au, and this is the resulting fic! You don't need to have read the book or watched the movie to understand this fic, although I recommend both the book and movie, because they're both just generally great.
> 
> This fic is finished and edited, I will be posting new chapters every wednesday and saturday ! 
> 
> Enjoy :)

In the land of Americanah, where such things as magic suits of armour and levitating cloaks really existed, it was quite a misfortune to be born the eldest child in a family. After all, everyone knew that you were the one who would be pursued by bad luck, that you were destined to fail your endeavours. As it was, Steve Rogers was the eldest of two siblings, which entailed that he had the dubious honour of being the failure of the family.

He lived in the small but lively town of Brooklyne with his sister Natasha. They’d never known their father, and their mother had passed away recently, leaving two orphans to tend after themselves and their small shop. After months of grief and trying to make ends meet, they came to the conclusion that one of them had to move out. Naturally, Natasha was the one who would go and take the opportunity to study and become a master in the trade she would choose. Following careful deliberations, they agreed to send Natasha to the prestigious Shield guild to learn witchcraft and martial arts. It was with a heavy heart that Steve bid farewell to his sister, knowing it would be a long time before they saw each other again.

He was happy for Natasha, of course, and glad that she was going to live up to her amazing potential. It had always been this way: Natasha had always been excellent at anything she cared to do. She danced like no other, made the finest brushes for the painting supplies they sold in the shop, was smart and cunning and beautiful to boot. Next to her, Steve had always felt clumsy and overgrown. He was tall and muscular, all thanks to the heavy lifting he did in the docks when he needed extra money (which was more often the case than not), and while he liked feeling strong, he knew he could look a bit intimidating. Natasha always told him that his baby blue eyes and blond hair made him look like a powerful angel, but he preferred her grace and flaming red locks. If he was an angel, then she was a nymph.

But what he looked like didn’t matter. He was the eldest of the Rogers’, which meant he would always stay here, in his little house, sell his painting supplies, and maybe find someone to share his life with, most probably another eldest who couldn’t leave the town either. It wouldn’t be too bad, he reasoned. He had already spent 26 years in this town, why not his whole life? Either way, dwelling on his fate wouldn’t do him any good. He’d had the misfortune to be born as the oldest sibling, and there was nothing to be done about it.

So he sat in the shop and made his brushes during the day, worked at the docks during the evening, and dreamt of painting during the night.

Some days, if he was feeling particularly lonely, he would put away the brushes and canvases, close the shop, and walk to the bakery across town to buy a pastry and sit in the town square, looking at the passers-by and thinking about painting them, or the flowers, or the shifting light. If he hadn’t been a first-born, he’d have liked to be a painter. Instead, he helped others pursue his passion.

Steve liked the bakery. The people working there were always friendly, and if he helped with carrying the bags of flour, he’d get a free _éclair au chocolat_. He loved these pastries, felt as if he was opening a secret present when he tasted the chocolate filling. He was eating one, sitting on a bench near the fountain, thinking about what he was going to cook for his dinner, when a nearby group of older women caught his attention. They were sitting in a circle around one of the tables, sipping lemonade and eating _pains aux raisins_ , gossiping like little ladies of that age are prone to do.

One of them was telling the others about the calamity she was sure was about to strike Brooklyne. She was loud, and Steve could hear everything she had to say.

“I’m telling you, it’s a bad sign that _he_ ’s come near this town. If it was up to me, I’d send the soldiers to make him move away. Or even a sorcerer! Would that the Sorcerer Supreme hadn’t tried to pursue the Witch of the Waste! If she hadn’t killed him, we wouldn’t have to fear for our grandchildren.”

One of the older ladies interrupted her: “Do you really believe those stories? About him stealing—”

“Of course I do! You can never be too careful with men like him. I hear he bewitches every beautiful young man or woman he comes across. They fall in love with him instantly, and follow him back to his castle, and then he rips their heart out of their chest and eats it. I told my daughter to keep her older children off the streets after nightfall, and you should do the same.”

Steve had never heard of a wizard eating people’s hearts, but he knew that people like the Scarlet Witch or Doctor Doom were known for disregarding human life in their magical practices.

He would have to make sure that Natasha knew about this mystery wizard, so that she could keep herself safe.

“And the way he just flaunts his presence! This morning, I woke up, opened the curtains of my window, and there it was, his monstrous castle, just on the hill! It frightened me, to see that he dares to move his castle this close to the town. It’s a hideous thing, I must say, dark and shooting out smoke and bright lights and high-pitched whines. I reckon that the man living in such a place must be quite hideous himself. “

Another one chimed in: “I hear he’s a lovely young man, you wouldn’t think he ate people’s hearts if you saw him in the streets, which is how he lures so many youngsters to his home. I heard he’s got beautiful blond hair and sky-blue eyes.”

Steve hurriedly looked the other way.

“I hear he can take any form at will, be it a woman or man’s, but that his eyes always stay green and his hair raven-black.”

“You’re mistaking him for Loki Laufeyson, Margaret. My grandson saw the wizard whisk away his friend, and he had shining blue hair and golden-brown eyes.”

Steve had hoped he would get useful information about the man’s physique, but the women couldn’t seem to settle on one look. He stood up, having finished his pastry a while ago, and walked past them just as one of them told the others that the man went by the name of Anthony Stark.

* * *

The next time someone mentioned the name Stark, it was one of Steve’s customers, Mrs. Carter, a regular. She’d been a good friend of Steve’s mother, and she’d stayed a friend of the Rogers’ even after her passing.

While picking through the paints, she told Steve about Stark:

“There’s been a lot of disappearances recently, a lot of young and beautiful men and women, all around your age. And it has been going on for almost as long as Stark’s castle has been near the town. You should be careful, Steve. I hear there are a lot of blond men missing.”

Steve tried to laugh it off.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit easy to point Stark as the culprit here? Why would he even make those people disappear?”

She stared at him.

“My daughter was walking with her friend when Stark approached them. He gave them his name, and charmed the friend, and they walked off together. The next day, she had disappeared. We still haven’t found her. Be careful, Steve.”

Steve couldn’t deny that it was pretty damning evidence.

* * *

Steve was walking home from the docks one evening when he heard loud voices in a nearby alley. He immediately went to see what was happening: someone might need his help. There were two soldiers crowding a teenaged girl, standing too close to her with a glint in their eyes that made Steve’s jaw clench. The girl was backed against a wall, talking with a pitch that was high and panicked. Steve planted himself in the middle of the alley, readying himself for a scuffle. This wouldn’t be his first one, after all. He’d developed a habit of never knowing when to stop when he saw a situation going south. Natasha always used to laugh at him when he’d come back home with a black eye and bruised knuckles, telling him he’d never go far in life if he wasted his time on street fights, to which he would respond that he wasn’t going to go far in life anyways, so he could just as well make the best of it, couldn’t he? Sarah, their mother, would only ask why he had gotten in a fight, and when he replied that he’d seen someone getting bullied, or stopped a thief, or helped some poor soul, she’d smile approvingly. Steve knew he was a bit too bull-headed for his own good, but he couldn’t back out of a fight if he was fighting for the right cause.

Which was why he was here, staring down two soldiers who had had too much to drink, to help the girl, who clearly wanted nothing to do with them. His shout made them look up, and the men’s faces turned angry when they realised, they had been caught. Now came the tricky part. They could back off, or turn their anger towards Steve, or worse, towards the girl. So he made himself a big target, puffing up his chest, frowning—Natasha called it his “I’m disappointed in you” frown— and made his voice carry loud and clear.

“Leave the girl alone.”

It worked. They bristled and stepped towards him, the girl forgotten.

“Who do you think you are, talking to us like that?” The tallest of the two sneered. The other one put a hand on the strap of his musket, and Steve realised he might have miscalculated a bit. They were both armed, and had the authority to arrest him, and, well. Even Steve couldn’t outrun bullets.

The soldiers drew their weapons, shouting at him that he was going to regret sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, and Steve silently watched as the girl slipped away into the safety of the main street. He’d done good, and whatever happened now, it would be worth it. He let the guards circle him, muscles tensed and ready to bolt or fight his way out. He’d never fought men with bayonet mounted muskets before. One of them lunged at him, and he sidestepped the sharp blade at the end of the gun. The soldier had aimed for his heart. The alcohol had gone to their heads, and they were trying to kill him. He didn’t plan on dying like this, however.

They danced around each other, Steve evading their attacks, but never managing to get in range to punch or kick them. They were skilled, even with their senses dulled by alcohol, and made sure to keep him far enough that they could reach him with their bayonets, but not so close that he could touch them. They hadn’t tried to shoot him yet, but Steve knew it was only a matter of time before one of them remembered they could kill him at a distance. His best chance was to run away, but during the scuffle, they had managed to crowd Steve into a dead-end. He was going to be trapped like a hare in a snare, ripe for the killing.

Steve lunged, a desperate attempt at barging through them, and he collided with one of the soldiers, tumbling to the ground with him. They rolled in the dirt, fighting for the upper hand, which Steve gained when he punched the soldier in the face, who went limp under him. He silently thanked the higher powers that the bayonet hadn’t gone straight through him during the fall but froze when he heard the tell-tale click of a musket that was loaded and ready to fire.

He hadn’t been fast enough to run away before the other soldier could load his musket, and now it was too late. From this distance, the bullet would hit him with deadly accuracy.

“You just threw your last punch, boy,” the soldier growled behind him, and fired.

Steve jolted, the bang deafening, sure that any moment now, he would feel the pain blossom somewhere inside of him. But when he didn’t feel anything, he realised that somehow, the bullet had missed. He looked behind him, incredulous, and scrambled to get away when he saw that the musket had blown up in the soldier’s hands, who was now lying slumped against the wall.

There was a man standing between Steve and the soldier.

He smiled at Steve, snapped his fingers, and the musket was suddenly back in the soldier’s hands, whole and unmarred.

Steve understood two things simultaneously: This man had just used magic, and he’d saved Steve’s life.

The magician walked over to where Steve was, still crouched, and helped him up effortlessly with a hand curled around Steve’s wrist. Up this close, Steve could see his features. He was almost as tall as Steve, his eyes a deep blue, his black hair artfully ruffled, lips curling in a smile underneath a neat moustache. He couldn’t be much older than Steve himself. His clothes were almost shimmering in the night, his earrings two drops of light on his ears.

He was _gorgeous_.

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, my dear. Now, why don’t we leave this place?” And with these peculiar words, he dragged Steve away, and Steve could only follow.

Who was this man? Why had he helped Steve? Would he ask for something in retribution, just like some warlocks were prone to do? _Why was he still holding Steve’s wrist?_

Steve had a myriad of questions, but he didn’t utter a single word while he was being led through the streets until they stopped before a teahouse. The stranger turned to Steve, then, his smile binding, asking if he would fancy a cup of tea?

The question was so unexpected that it knocked Steve out of his daze. He took a step back, dislodging his wrist from the stranger’s grip, and spluttered. He didn’t know what was going on, he’d been fighting for his life not two minutes ago, and now this man wanted to drink a cup of tea with him?

Was the stranger… _interested_ in Steve?

He shook his head, trying to focus, but the man interpreted the movement as a rejection, and his smile dimmed. “Well then. Until we meet again!” and with those words, he walked away, but instead of touching the cobblestones with his feet, a blue glow formed under them, and with each step, he rose further from the ground, until he disappeared over the roofs into the night, leaving a stunned Steve behind.

The whole situation was surreal. The man had just shown up, saved Steve, asked him out (maybe? Steve wasn’t so sure), then disappeared without letting Steve say a single word. Steve hadn’t even gotten his name, much less thanked him!

He stood in front of the teahouse for a long while, trying to understand, half-hoping that the mysterious magician would come back. Of course, nothing of the sort happened, and Steve resigned himself to never seeing the stranger again and walked home.

On his way back, Steve asked himself if this man could have been Stark. He’d been a magician, after all, and he’d flirted with Steve.

But he’d saved Steve. He couldn’t be the man that ate his victim’s hearts, could he? Besides, it didn’t matter, because he was gone. Steve was just glad he was alive.

It was very late, but Steve still needed to arrange and present the new brushes he’d made that morning in the shop window, and he doubted he would be able to sleep, his blood still pumping from the near-death experience. It always calmed him to prepare the store for the coming day, arranging the brushes, stacking the canvases, drawing a little something on a sheet of paper with the charcoal to show its quality, sweeping the tiles one last time.

He’d been working for close to an hour when he heard the bell from the door chime, announcing a customer. _Odd_ , he thought, _I could have sworn I locked the door._ He turned to face the late customer and tell them that the shop was closed. He was met with a petite woman with a dark brown bob and a yellow dress that highlighted her hourglass waist. She was flanked by a pale, brown-haired man, who had dull grey eyes. He exuded an air of misery, and favoured his left side, where Steve noted that his arm was covered in what looked like armour, but it had a weird shimmering to it, which hinted at magic. When the man saw Steve, he whispered something to the woman, who smiled.

Steve didn’t like the woman’s smile. It was too sharp.

She eyed him haughtily, let her gaze wander around the shop, and curled her lip in disdain.

“Not that I don’t understand his choice—you are what could be considered handsome— but a store-owner? _That’s_ how low he’s come? And selling useless things, as well. You wouldn’t happen to be a noble or a knight in disguise, would you? No? You’re just a poor kid, aren’t you? You don’t even have the money to buy proper clothes. To think that when I finally get the right one, he’s just some peasant. Incredible. After all the effort I went through to find you, this is quite disappointing. It’s a shame, really. But that doesn’t matter. I just need to remove the concurrence.”

Hearing her dismiss his entire existence in one swoop was enough for Steve to flush angrily. If she wanted to insult him like that, she could do it outside the shop, and now. He stepped forward, ready to make her leave, but she raised a finger, and he found himself unable to move.

“I’m not done, my dear. Now, what to do? I could kill you, of course, but that would make him angry. I just don’t want you to meddle, you understand. One would have thought that the mere thought of being the concurrent of the Witch of the Waste would dissuade you, but yet here we are.”

She looked at him, examined him, and all he could do was widen his eyes. Had he heard right? Was she really the Witch of the Waste? The same woman who had allegedly killed the Sorcerer Supreme and threatened the King? If that was right, and he had the sinking feeling that it was, Steve was in very big trouble. He had no inkling as to what she was talking about, but if she considered him an enemy, she would kill him without hesitation, and easily. He couldn’t even speak, much less defend his life. What was it with everyone wanting him dead tonight?

“Ah! I know. Simple, but truly effective against a fickle man like him. Now, don’t even try to lift the curse, you won’t be able to tell anyone about it.”

She muttered something under her breath, swiped her hand in the air across his chest, and Steve found himself enveloped in a strong gust of wind. When the wind died, he was alone in the shop once more, the witch and her lackey nowhere to be seen, and a great fatigue had overcome him.

He felt weak.

Weaker than he had felt in years. Weaker than when he’d been bed-ridden for a week with an awful cough. His head was hurting, his joints aching, his heart beating a little too fast. What had she done?

He hurried over to the mirror in the centre of the shop, and gasped when he saw himself.

He’d lost a good thirty centimetres in height. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones much more prominent under the skin. He’d lost his muscle mass, his arms and legs gangly and too thin to be healthy. His heart was fluttering, his breath came with a slight wheeze. He’d gone from a muscular and tall man to a sickly and short one.

And yet, the face looking back at him in the mirror was undeniably his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kind comments, I hope this story will live up to the expectations. :)  
> I forgot to say it, but this AU is set in an universe that is largely MCU-based, but with some elements from the 616 universe (the comics). You don't need to be familiar with the comics to understand and enjoy the fic, it's more of an easter egg :D  
> Feel free to ask me questions if something is unclear, or if you're just wondering about something. I'd love to hear your theories and thoughts about the fic as well <3

He didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to accept that she had changed his body, his very being, into this shadow of what he should be. He wouldn’t be able to do anything like this, he realised. He wouldn’t have the strength to help in the docks, he wouldn’t have the lungs to walk all the way to the bakery in the little free time he had. No one would recognise him, they would ask after Steve, and what would he say? What could he even say? They wouldn’t believe him, they would chase him out, and he’d have nowhere to go.

Staying in his current state was utterly unviable. Thus, he should try to undo the curse, preferably as soon as possible. The problem was, the Witch had told him he wouldn’t be able to talk about it to anyone. He’d have to test that particular assertion at one point, but it was safe to assume that no one save magic users would realise he’d been cursed. So he needed to find one, and hope that they could help him. Unfortunately, there weren’t any licensed magicians or wizards in Brooklyne, he’d have to travel to Ma’Hattan to find any with the ability to undo such a curse. The Witch was powerful, and he’d need someone at least as capable as her to help him.

Who could he turn to? He didn’t have the money needed to ask for a magic user’s services, but he didn’t have a choice. Maybe he could work for them, as an assistant or cleaner until he scraped together enough money to pay them? Didn’t the Great Magician Potts accept alternative methods of payment? He was one of the strongest magic users, too, on the same level as the Sorcerer Supreme. Yes. Steve would go to Potts.

In a few hours, it would be time to open the shop, but that was not happening anymore. He should leave before then and make sure that no one saw him and started asking uncomfortable questions. He would need to travel by foot to save money. It would take longer to reach the capital city than with horse carriage or automobile, but it would be worth it. When he’d be in Ma’Hattan, he’d find a way to be useful, earn some money. And if all failed, he could always make himself a new life there. The city should have many opportunities, even for a sickly first-born like himself.

He had a plan for himself and the shop for the next few weeks. But what about Natasha?

He had to contact her in some way and tell her about the situation, before some of the regulars at the shop sent her a concerned telegram or letter that would only serve to worry her. On the other side, she couldn’t know about the curse, because she would surely want to help him, and he didn’t want her to jeopardise her education just for him. Maybe if he told her he’d finally decided to travel the kingdom a little bit, since she always went on about how he needed to see something else than the same three streets.

_Live a little, Steve_ , she always said. To which he responded, _I’m not dead, am I?_

She’d have her wish fulfilled, albeit in an unconventional manner.

He’d walk to Ma’Hattan, see what he could do, and then he would send her a letter. And write that she shouldn’t come. Yes, that would work.

With everything taken care of, he put away the paints, closed everything, and went to sleep.

* * *

He woke up at dawn, his body aching and tired. He had to sort through Natasha’s clothes until he found a shirt and pants that were small enough for his new stature. His red leather shoes still fitted him, which was a small mercy, since Natasha had taken both her pair of shoes with her. He took his own coat, the warmest piece of clothing he owned. It was too long on him, reaching almost to his shins instead of mid-thigh, but with the sleeves rolled, it did its job. He took a small bag with food and the meagre amount of savings he had scraped together over the years, wrote a note that said that the shop would be closed indefinitely due to urgent personal matters, put it on the door, and locked all the doors and windows.

When he was outside, he took a moment to look at the place he’d lived in his whole life and would now leave for the first time in his life. He took a deep breath (it was shallower than he would have liked) and started his journey.

His intention was to reach the nearest town on the way to Ma’Hattan before the night, but he noticed his mistake halfway up the hills. He would have made it had he been his normal self, but like this, he walked maybe three times slower. He had to stop regularly to get his breath back, and his legs simply didn’t have the strength to go faster. He sat down, looking over the now distant town and the setting sun. Soon it would be night, and he needed to find wood to make a fire. He’d sleep on the most comfortable rocks he could find. His back ached at the mere thought of it. _At least it’s not raining_ , he tried to comfort himself. It didn’t really work.

The warm light made the clouds glow golden and orange, Brooklyne gleaming underneath Steve. From here, it looked almost peaceful. There wasn’t any sound on the hills apart from the wind, some birds chirping, and…an angry snarling?

Steve looked around him, half expecting to see a wolf lunge at him, but he was completely alone. The snarling was coming from the bushes a little further away, just next to where a sturdy stick was jutting out of the shrubbery. It would make for a good walking stick, Steve mused, as well as a possible weapon against the animal. He inched nearer, and on his third try, managed to pull the stick out of the bushes. It wasn’t a stick, however, but a scarecrow that had gotten itself stuck somehow. The scarecrow was strangely clad, with a dark red robe of sorts, adorned with swirls and symbols that Steve didn’t recognise.

It looked like expensive cloth, but why would someone make a scarecrow wear that? Maybe it was something that had gone out of fashion. Steve had seen his fair share of perfectly functional clothes get discarded because they weren’t the right cut or colour anymore. That kind of waste always angered him. He had his own sewing kit, his mother had taught Natasha and him to mend his clothes, and that worked just fine.

But the reason that the scarecrow was adorned like that was of little import because he didn’t have any use for it. He put it against the bushes and followed the snarling sound. A grey dog was growling, trying to get away from where it was half under the bushes, but unable to, due to its long and shaggy fur being twisted and stuck in the thorns. It was snarling and snapping its teeth at nothing. Steve tried to calm the dog down, but the animal didn’t stop struggling no matter how much Steve pet him or shushed him. In the end, Steve had to rip its fur off the thorns. The moment the dog was free, it ran away, still growling under its breath. Steve watched as it ran downhill and disappeared in the growing shadows.

_You’re welcome,_ he thought. He’d met friendlier dogs.

He should move over the hilltop pass to get some protection from the wind, he realised. Judging by his speed up to now, it’d take him another hour before he’d be on the other side of the hill, just enough time before the last dregs of light would be gone.

His prediction turned out to be pretty accurate, he started his descent just as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. He had maybe thirty minutes before the darkness would be complete, and he started his search for wood and a suitable place to rest.

There was nothing.

No trees, barely enough grass to cushion the hard edges of the pebbles and rocks littering the hillside. All he could see, in the dim twilight, was acres and acres of grass, no caves or bigger boulders to hide under.

He’d have to spend the night walking, because if he stopped, he would suffer from the cold.

The moon was full, thankfully, so he wouldn’t break his neck by tripping over some unseen rock.

He started the walk down to the next hill, his knees aching and protesting against the continued effort. He was still panting from the climb up the first hill, and his chest felt tight. Not to mention that he felt cold, despite the heavy coat.

Steve would love to sit down, near a fire, drink a warm bowl of soup, and sleep for fourteen hours. He could almost see it before him, feel the warmth of the hearth, taste the salty vegetable broth.

_Don’t start dreaming now, Steve. Keep walking._

His feet were getting heavier. He needed to rest. But if he stopped, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to stand up again, so he continued, carefully stepping on stones and using the silvery moonlight to lead the way. It was almost ethereal, this dark hill with glints of grey and silver and blue on the stones. He looked up at the sky, the moon a great circle of light amidst the twinkling stars.

The whistle of the wind was fainter here, allowing Steve to hear something that had been lost in the wind before. It was a distant cacophony of huffing and puffing, of grinding gears and screeching metal, combined with a low whine. It couldn’t come from the town, because the wind blew from the hills to Brooklyne, and, besides, there were no factories there that made that kind of sound. Was this the sound of those gargantuan air-ships he’d heard about? Was there one of them at the bottom of the valley?

It was coming closer, he realised.

He walked towards it, hoping to find someone or at least a place to rest. He’d pay them if he had to, he just couldn’t go on until dawn.

The form that emerged from the darkness was so far from what Steve had imagined that he stopped short. It was—it looked like—he didn’t know _what_ it was, but it looked like a gigantic metal monster. The thing was groaning as its four legs carried it towards Steve. Smoke was spouting from several small chimneys, doors and windows and turrets were protruding from the metal and stone body. From some places, an eery blue light shone through, and the same light appeared to be pooling under the claws of the creature. The whistling and whining were coming from every direction at once, making Steve ears ring. Things that could be eyes but were as likely to be windows were mounted on the front of the thing, seemingly staring right at Steve.

_What monstrosity is this? I’ve never heard of a metal and stone beast in the Hills, what is—of_ course _. Stark’s moving castle. It’s the only explanation that would make sense._

Now that he thought of it, he could see the towers and battlements that hinted at a fortress or castle.

Steve wasn’t in any state to try to run and hide, because he was now completely bathed in the blue glow. Anyone would have seen him. Besides, he couldn’t run even if he wanted to. With this body, he would more likely fall and break a bone than escape successfully. If only he wasn’t this weak—wait. That might work in his favour, just this time. With him looking like this, Stark wouldn’t be interested in courting him. After all, he was known to pursue beautiful young adults only, not sickly or ugly runts like himself. Steve was almost certain that he was in no danger of getting his heart eaten, which was good enough for him to start shouting at the castle.

“Good evening! Would you be amenable to stop and let me in?”

He felt a little silly talking to an inanimate object (although this one wasn’t so inanimate), but he figured someone had to be in control of the thing.

The castle didn’t stop its ascent, and Steve was forced to hurry to the side as the building clambered on, one of its claws digging into the ground where Steve had stood. Now that he was no longer facing it, he realised that it was moving with a considerable speed. In fact, it walked past Steve in little time, continuing its journey without acknowledging him. He saw a door near the backside and decided he would try knocking. And if no one answered, well, he could always try to force it open.

A miracle could always happen, right?

He continued hollering at the castle to slow down, which it did, although only enough for him to run after the receding door and knock breathlessly. The moment he hit the wood, the door swung open, narrowly missing his face, and he stumbled into the building. The door closed with a bang, and Steve lay on the ground, trying to get his breath back. His legs were jelly, his heart had never beaten faster, and he sounded like a train whistle when he sucked in mouthful after mouthful of air.

When he managed to get his breathing into order, he pushed himself up, and looked at the castle he’d gotten into. Broken into? It wasn’t very clear. For all he knew, the castle had let him in. In any case, he couldn’t see anyone else in the dimly lit lodgings.

He was in what might be a kitchen, but cluttered full of diverse objects and apparatus. If he squinted, he could see the hint of the outline of a sofa on one end of the room, facing a hearth where some embers were still glowing. On the other end, there was a table covered in dirty plates and pots and pans, with food throwed haphazardly on it. There had to be a faucet somewhere, but he couldn’t see it. There was a chandelier with a few of the candles burning, the others half melted or simply not there. The room was stacked full of books, parchments, papers, tools, metal plates and parts, pouches filled with herbs and bizarre plants. On the fireplace mantel, there was an array of sinister objects: fangs, bits of fur, and several skulls, with one that was notable in that it was a _human_ skull. Steve suppressed a shiver at the sight. Was that the last remains of one of Stark’s victims?

The sight on the far wall was even stranger though. Several shelves were filled with small machines that made noise and moved slightly. They were glowing the same blue light as the castle and had a life of their own. Steve had seen automatons before, but these had a fluidity that the others had lacked. They looked almost alive. They were _fascinating_. It made Steve want to pick one up and look at it, look at the small arms and claws and how they were moving and how they worked. But most of all, he wanted to sit down in the middle of the bric-a-brac and paint it.

The room was clearly the space of a skilled magician or inventor, or maybe both, although not a very orderly nor organised one. It needed tidying up and cleaning. And the fire was almost out.

Steve decided that if Stark didn’t want him here, he would have thrown Steve out already, so he could just as well make himself comfortable while he waited for the master of the house to greet him or kill him.

He took off his shoes, although he regretted that decision as soon as he stepped into a puddle of unidentified goop. He padded over to the hearth, relishing in the heat. He still felt weak, but he managed to put two logs on the embers and blew new life into the flame. The flame flickered a little, its heart a bright blue that contrasted with the purple, orange and red of the edges of the fire. Then a tendril licked one of the logs and gained purchase on the wood. Steve watched in rapt fascination as the flame seemed to move _over_ the log, pulling the rest of the fire with it, until the fire had settled on top of the log. This was, as Natasha would say it, _really not_ how fire was supposed to work. The flame grew stronger as it burned the log, and Steve realised with surprise that it was eating the wood. If he looked closely, he could make out a fiery tongue swirling around the wood, pulling it onto a maw that grew and grew as it consumed its fuel. In less than a minute, there was a hearty fire illuminating and warming the whole room. The fire was glowing a strong orange-red now, with hints of purple and blue-white in its centre. The maw was nowhere to be seen, but Steve still heard the **“Mooooore. I need more food,”** clear as day. The voice was a hissing and crackling sound, but the words still managed to be perfectly understandable. Steve gave the fire three more logs, until it grew satisfied. Steve sat down on a chair next to the fireplace. The fire turned to Steve then, the hinting at a face with a laughing mouth and dancing eyes telling him that it wasn’t just a fire, it was a fire demon.

**“Thank you, sir. I was going to starve to death, at this rate, and you saved me from a most unlucky fate. Now, who are you and how did you come here?”**

Steve wasn’t imagining the fire growing bigger, was he?

“I’m uh. I’m Steve Rogers. I needed somewhere to sleep and the door was unlocked, so I came in. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He smiled his most innocent smile and hoped that would be enough.

**“This isn’t a hospice. You should leave before the master of the house returns, he’s out for the night, but he doesn’t like visitors, especially unannounced ones.”**

It looked like fire demons were immune to Steve’s charm. He decided to do one of the things he was best at: digging his heels in.

“If he’s out for the night, then I won’t be disturbing him. Besides, if I hadn’t come in, you wouldn’t have gotten the extra logs. Also, it’s very late, and I’m exhausted, and weak, and I’m cold, my legs are hurting and I think my heart is tired and I can’t even breathe properly, so if you send me out you might as well kill me on the spot, because I will not survive a night in the hills.”

The demon wasn’t mollified.

“Isn’t there a fire demon code that you shouldn’t leave a favour unreturned?”

That had more effect. The maw turned into a grimace, and the flames diminished in size.

**“You did save me. I am grateful, and I will allow you to stay for the night. Mr. Rogers, why did you come here? Answer me truthfully, and I will guarantee that my master will not harm you.”**

Steve figured that he had nothing to lose. Maybe the fire demon could help him with the curse.

“I’m here because—because—be—”

He couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. Every time he wanted to speak about the witch and the curse, his throat closed up, his tongue curled in his mouth and his lips became sealed. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, I would like to, but…”

**“Don’t worry, Mr. Rogers. I can see the curse around you, trapping your body in this form. The Witch of the Waste has set her magic deep in you, but I will help you lift the curse, if you do something in exchange for me.”**

Steve couldn’t believe it. Was his problem going to be solved that easily? Not even a day of travel, and he’d already found someone that could help him? But then again, the fire demon might be asking for something impossible.

“If I accept, what would you have me do?”

**“I am tied to Mr. Stark with a contract. He gave me something that bound me to this castle and made me heart of the building. I move it, I control it, but I cannot leave it. I am trapped, and you could help set me free. I need you to break the contract. Should you prove successful, I will lift the curse and return your body to its right form. Do you accept the pact?”**

It sounded simple enough. Find a way to break the contract and get his body back. Steve had nothing to lose.

“I accept the pact.”

And with that said, he promptly fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve woke up with a crick in his neck. He really shouldn’t have fallen asleep in his chair like that. Well, hopefully it would be over before he had to greet the day’s first customers and—

Right.

The Witch of the Waste, the curse, it all came back to him. As did the fact that he was in Stark’s castle. What the hell had he been thinking yesterday? He had to get out of there before Stark came back. If he wasn’t home already. That man was dangerous, and he should try to leave before it was too late—but the fire demon had made a pact with him. And it had promised that Steve wouldn’t get harmed.

Steve rolled his head on his shoulders, stretched a bit, and stood up, only to fall back down in the chair when a sudden spell of dizziness hit him. He wasn’t feeling too well, he realised. Maybe he should take it easy.

He looked around, hoping that the mess in the kitchen might have magically vanished overnight, but to his disappointment, absolutely nothing had changed. He looked back to the fire and put another log in the flames. The fire demon seemed to wake up at that, the face forming once again and peering at him, almost in an analysing way.

**“Good morning, Mr. Rogers.”**

“Good morning, sir fire demon.” He couldn’t be too careful with his manners. The fire demon looked amused, though, and crackled a bit before answering:

**“You may call me Jalcifervis, or Jarvis for short.”**

“Then please call me Steve.”

He didn’t know what to say other than that, so he stood up and shuffled to what looked like a pantry. After some digging around, he found what he wanted: an egg and two thick slices of bacon. Now to find a pan. Jarvis didn’t say anything, but Steve could feel the burning gaze on his back as he moved around. When he had the pan and a lick of butter, he walked back to Jarvis and held the pan up.

“I’m going to make breakfast. Do you want anything? Or maybe you only eat wood? Does fried wood taste better? Actually, do planks taste different than sticks or logs?”

And now he was just making a fool of himself. Thankfully, Jarvis cut him off.

**“An egg would be fine, thank you. But I don’t make a habit of letting people use me for the mere act of cooking.”**

There was no threat in the words, but the hint was there. Steve backed off, looking for another heating source, but after two careful walks around the kitchen, he still couldn’t find any. He turned back to Jarvis.

“Jarvis, could I please use your fire? You can have half of the breakfast as payment.”

The fire demon scoffed. It was a hissing, popping sound.

**“I am a fire demon. I control a whole castle, I have magic powerful enough to burn you alive, yet you want me to bend my head for your measly eggs and meat?”**

The flames shifted from orange to green to blue, the heat making Steve sweat. But he wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated like that. Regardless of his size, he wouldn’t back down from a fight.

“All right, why not. But if I don’t get to eat, why would you have any food?”

He walked to the pile of wood and started pushing it away from the fire. Two could play at this game.

“And maybe, when Stark comes back, I’ll tell him about your request. I bet he’d be happy to learn that his fire demon wants to escape.”

The flames burned brighter, grew until they filled the fireplace, as if to show that Jarvis was more than capable of taking Steve on, but they came back to their original size quickly, the fire demon growling that it should never have let Steve come in. It bent his head, still muttering under its breath, and Steve smiled and thanked him pleasantly.

He took two more eggs and three more slices, deciding that he should give them to Jarvis as a treat. A flame licked around the pan, and Steve saw it as the tongue it was when it curled around a slice and dragged it into the open maw of the demon. The flames were perfect, and after a few minutes, the eggs and bacon were ready. Steve lifted the pan up, put it next to the fire, and opened a few cupboards until he found cutlery and a plate that weren’t dirty. He sat down at the table, carefully pushing some of the papers away, and turned sharply when he heard the door unlock.

Jarvis had heard it too, and said in a content tone:

**“Welcome back, sir.”**

The voice that greeted Jarvis was familiar, and when Steve saw the man, he stiffened.

It was the man from two nights ago, the one who had saved Steve’s life. And who also was Stark, apparently.

Stark saw Steve immediately, and frowned briefly, something flashing behind his eyes, but it was gone the next instant, replaced by a slightly too warm smile.

“And who are you, good sir? You look familiar, where have we met before?”

Steve’s chest constricted at the words. Stark couldn’t know who he really was, he would be angry or disappointed because of Steve’s earlier dismissal, maybe he’d kill him—oh God. That night, Stark was planning to seduce Steve, wasn’t he? Steve had been right in his suspicion, after all. He was lucky he’d refused, because he’d be a heartless corpse by now if he’d taken Stark up on that offer.

“No, you must have mistaken me for my uh, my cousin, he looks like me, but taller.”

Steve felt heat rising up his throat and cheeks and cursed his inability to lie convincingly. Thankfully, Stark didn’t know his tells, and dipped his head in a nod, as if it all made sense. It was so strange, seeing Stark like this, so tall and strong and handsome and— _come on, Steve can’t you remember he’s_ evil _? Just because you’re weak and small doesn’t make him the paragon of beauty all of a sudden._

But it was unfair that Stark was so easy on the eyes. Steve had had a vague image of him in his head after overhearing the gossiping old ladies, but it had been of an older man, with greying hair and a long beard, not this attractive man.

He couldn’t believe someone that young would be so cruel already.

**“His name is Steve Rogers, sir, he came here last night asking for a place to sleep.”**

“Good morning, Mr. Rogers. I’m Tony Stark, and this is my fire demon Jarvis. Are those fried eggs?”

He turned to Jarvis then, incredulous.

“You _let him_ use your flames? How did he do that?”

**“Steve persuaded me.”** Jarvis’ tone was unreadable.

Stark’s eyes were wide, but he seemed to accept the answer readily enough, and walked over to where Steve was sitting, taking off his coat and letting it float to the nearest chair. It was beautiful, a shining red, gold and blue thing, and Steve remembered how Stark had flown away, always surrounded by that same blue light that permeated the castle.

“Mind if I join you? I’m ravenous.”

Steve offered him half his plate and chewed nervously on his breakfast. What was he supposed to say now? How could he stay long enough in the castle without Stark getting suspicious? He could claim to want to be an assistant, but he really didn’t want to help Stark kill more people. He looked around the kitchen, desperate for any inspiration, when it hit him. The untidiness of the place was something he could use.

“Mr. Stark, I’m here to clean up your castle. It’s in total disarray, and you need someone to tidy up, clean, cook, and wash everything that’s dirty. That’s why I’m here.”

Steve had experience in cleaning the house and cooking, it had fallen on his shoulders when his mother had died.

Stark and Jarvis looked at him with the same calculating gaze. There was a twinkle in Stark’s eye and his mouth curled up.

“Amazing. Well, I wouldn’t want to be in your way. Thanks for the breakfast!” With those words, he whirled out through the door, a slight trail of light the only sign he’d ever been in the room to begin with.

Steve stared at the door, silently thanking the gods that Stark had accepted his flimsy excuse so readily, and decided to inspect the castle before he started cleaning it.

* * *

After two hours of opening door after door, Steve accepted that there wasn’t, in fact, any end to the castle. But only some of the uncountable rooms were lived in. There was the kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom—and hadn’t that been a horrible surprise, when what he first thought was an unused and grimy closet had turned out to be a _bathroom_ —how could Stark live in such conditions, he wondered—some halls, and then there was a door with a gleaming handle but battered wood that wouldn’t open no matter how hard Steve pushed or pulled. He’d given up on opening that door after he realised that was most likely where Stark cast secret spells or did even worse things. Steve was just relieved that he hadn’t stumbled upon any corpses.

He would have to start with the bathroom, he decided, if only because he would have to use it as well. He’d take one of the empty rooms to sleep in. But before that, he wanted to ventilate the castle. He went to the door and opened it, staggering back when he was met with the hustle and bustle of a busy street.

_What in the world…_

He hadn’t opened the wrong door, had he? He closed it, looked behind him at Jarvis, then opened the door again. The same street was there, packed with people milling around in the early morning sun. If he listened intently, he could hear the screaming of seagulls. He was at a port, then. He took a careful step outside, and when nothing happened, he walked out, closing the door behind him.

He turned to look at the castle, but the door he had just closed wasn’t attached to a monstrous building. Instead, there was a small shop window, with flowery letters painted on it that proclaimed it was _Anthony’s Sorcery Store._ Steve opened the door again, and there it was, the fireplace, the messy kitchen, and Jarvis, still looking at him, and was he laughing?

Steve stepped back inside. He looked at the door, then at the window he hadn’t noticed next to the door. Outside the window, there were grassy hills moving past at a leisurely pace. It was undeniably the view he should have if he opened the door.

Suddenly suspicious, he searched the castle until he found another window that didn’t just face the sky. If he looked through it, he could see a busy street, decorated with colourful banners and garlands. The automobiles moving about where imposing and shiny. The window clearly showed a city different to the port. It had to be a rich city, maybe Greenewitch or Wizardchington. Steve continued on his search for other windows, but the only places he could see were the port, the rich town, the hills, or darkness.

He came back to the kitchen, slightly out of breath from his discovery, and stopped dead when he saw the curious disk next to the door. It was divided in four equal parts, each of them a different colour: red, blue, green, and black. The blue part was facing up, but you could turn the disk. Steve walked closer, an idea forming in his head. He turned the disk so that the red part was on top. He opened the door carefully. An automobile sped past him, and he saw the same banners and imposing buildings as he had seen through the windows. He startled as he saw the royal crest engraved on the pavement before him. Could it be—was this Ma’Hattan? Heart hammering, he closed the door again, not letting himself think too much about it. First, exploration, and then, freaking out about being this close to Magician Potts.

The green part of the circle led to the Hills.

When Steve turned the circle until the black part was up, Jarvis flared up.

**“Do not leave the castle through that door!”**

Of course, that only meant that Steve had to open it. He was met with absolute darkness. It was suffocating, seeping into the castle through the open door, wrapping around Steve. It wanted him to step into it, so that it could swallow him whole, and it took every bit of his willpower to resist the temptation. He closed the door forcefully, taking several steps back, breathing hard.

“Th—thank you, Jarvis.”

* * *

Steve tied a rag around the lower part of his face, to help against the smell (it was revolting. How did Stark wash himself in these conditions?), and armed himself with a bucket, a block of soap, and a sturdy brush. It was time to clean the bathroom.

First, he had to put away all the bottles and products that were littering the floor and the edges of the bathtub. He had to hurry, because when he’d mentioned cleaning the bathroom, Stark had had an alarmed look on his face and told him that the bathroom was _not_ to be cleaned. Well, Stark could say anything he wanted, but there was no way that Steve was using that pigsty of a bathroom before cleaning it. So he had waited until Stark had left for another one of his “meetings” before hurrying up to the bathroom. Jarvis had tried dissuading him, but when Steve set his mind on something, he followed through.

It took the better part of fours hours to clean everything and sort out the empty bottles and boxes and jars. There were jars with all kinds of stuff in them: powder, gels, creams, some of them had stones. He even saw one with a lone eye. After that one, he stopped opening the jars.

He didn’t need any more nasty surprises.

But after hours and hours of hard work, the bathroom was finally done. It was beautiful, the porcelain shining brightly, the taps glowing golden, even the bottles and jars were clean. Steve could finally admire the ironwork of the mirror and the abstract symbols on the tiles. It truly was a magnificent bathroom and seeing it this clean made something warm well up in Steve’s chest.

Even with a body like this, he could at least do _something_ good.

The tricky part was putting all the things back in place. He did his best, but some of them had been on the ground, or in the bathtub, so he put them on the shelves instead. There was room, and it was better like that. Stark couldn’t complain.

* * *

After coming back to see the bathroom cleaned, Stark huffed and grumbled a bit, but congratulated Steve on a job well done. He forbade him from entering the room with the battered door and gleaming handle, saying something about his workshop being off-limits. Steve was just glad he had one less room to clean, even if his curiosity only got worse. The fear of discovering something horrible in there still won out. For now.

The next weeks went on in much the same way. Steve tidied up, cleaned, cooked, and generally made himself as helpful as possible. All in all, he turned the castle from a troll cave to a homey and cosy place. When they weren’t cluttered full, the rooms where beautiful. Steve liked this castle, he realised.

When he had some free time, he read books about fire demons and their magic. They varied in form and colour, had mysterious names, never lied. Steve was surprised to read that no one knew where they came from, because no one had found a fire demon that wasn’t tied to someone already, and the demons never spoke of their earlier lives.

When Steve asked Jarvis about it, the demon just said that they had both been young and foolish boys when they made the contract.

Steve continued reading and looking for a piece of paper with a contract, with no success.

* * *

Stark was gone half of the time, always looking charming with his sparkling eyes and unruly hair. He never came home with anyone, and Steve couldn’t decide if he preferred not seeing the victims or if he hated the idea that Stark killed them somewhere in the night, leaving them to rot in some dark alley.

Steve didn’t like to think about what Stark was doing.

There was a lot to do in the castle, besides tidying up and cleaning: when Stark was gone, Steve was the one who had to help the customers of Anthony’s Sorcery Store with spells and charms. When Jarvis had first told him to answer the door, he’d panicked, heart beating too fast at the idea of dealing with magic items. He didn’t know any magic, how was he supposed to help anyone?

Jarvis had crackled a bit, then told Steve that he was wrong, there was magic in everyone, and that he just needed to believe in it. He’d urged Steve on, and Steve had caved.

The little girl that had knocked on the port door had wanted to have “another vial of the cough medicine.” Steve had smiled at her, told her it would just be a minute, then hurried back to Jarvis and hissed at him to tell him where he could find the medicine. Jarvis had directed him to one of the cupboards, had made him fill an empty green glass vial with water, had then made him add a colourful powder that smelled sweet. Then he had told Steve to cast a healing spell.

Steve, at a loss, had shaken the bottle thrice, thinking very hard of the feeling of relief that came when a coughing fit was over. The liquid had changed colour, Jarvis humming approvingly, and Steve had given the vial to the girl. She had offered him a bronze coin, thanked him very politely, and disappeared before he could ask himself why she had given him so little money.

Steve knew how much healing spells cost, because he’d overheard some men comparing the prices of spells cast by different magicians. The cheapest one had been a silver coin, which was 12 times what Steve had gotten! This girl had robbed him, he was sure of it.

When Stark had come back that evening, Steve had told him about it and apologised (he’d thought that it was better to tell Stark than have Stark discover it on his own). But Stark had told him that it was fine, that he knew the girl’s grandmother, and always gave her a discount. A _very_ friendly discount, if you asked Steve. Did the girl have a beautiful older sibling, maybe? Ugh.

Stark had also refused to give Steve any indication of the prices he made his clients pay, saying that he knew all his clients anyway and that he trusted them to pay him honestly. That had made Steve even more suspicious. He had his own shop, and things just didn’t work like that.

Two weeks later, Steve was comfortable in his role as shop assistant, and people came to him if Stark wasn’t there, assuming that Steve was an apprentice. Steve never corrected them. In a way, it was fun, casting little spells, helping people, playing with magic.

He also knew that all the clients systematically underpaid Stark. Which meant that either they paid Stark in another manner—food? Information? ……Sacrifices?—or the spells were of a very bad quality and weren’t worth more than that. But that didn’t make any sense, because the customers always came back happy with the products, thanking Steve or Stark profusely, always so happy. The spells had to be genuine. Besides, Stark was a potent wizard; he had a fire demon. Steve had read that if magic users that make a contract with demons aren’t powerful enough, they will be consumed by the demon, in a few minutes or several years, depending on the power gap. Steve had asked Jarvis about it and Jarvis had said that raw power wasn’t the issue with the contract.

So Stark was powerful. He cast excellent spells, had the best ingredients, was most likely a genius if the automatons were any indication. But he was underpaid and seemed to be okay with that.

It didn’t make any sense.

Steve confronted Jarvis about it.

“Why do the customers from the port pay so little? I know the spells and charms they buy should cost more, but every time I mention it to Stark, he evades the question. He can’t give them all discounts, can he? That just defeats the purpose of a business. How does he even get the money to buy all of the ingredients? Or his expensive clothes? Or his inventing material?”

**“That does not concern you, Steve.”**

“Don’t give me this nonsense. I want to know if he has a mountain of gold hidden somewhere, or does he get the money by less legal means? Oh God, does he steal it? Does he perform… does he do _black magic_?”

He whispered the last part of his sentence, feeling the tell-tale chill run up his spine at the mere mention of the forbidden magic. If Stark dealt in that kind of magic, then Steve had to leave. Immediately. There was a good reason black magic was prohibited.

Jarvis, at these words, burned brighter. He turned almost entirely blue, his flames spewing out of the fireplace, licking the ceiling. His voice morphed, became deeper, more monstrous.

**“Never, _ever_ say those words again. Master Stark would never steal or use such a vile magic. He would rather die, and I would rather kill him. Never insult us in this manner again.”**

Steve was frozen in place, realising he’d made a mistake. It wasn’t that he thought Stark was capable of it, it was just that he didn’t understand what else could explain the lack of income.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I’m just so confused about the money. How does he live in such luxury with that little amount of income? Is he from a wealthy or noble family?”

**“Master Stark does come from a wealthy family, but he made his fortune by assuming the identity of Magician Potts at the royal court. Nobles and royals pay very well.”**

Did—did Jarvis say.

Did Jarvis say _Potts_?

Potts, as in the Great Magician Potts? The man that Steve hoped would help him?

“I—I’m sorry. Do you mean Stark and Potts are the same person?”

There. That sounded reasonable, right?

**“Of course. He did not want the Stark name to become famous in Ma’Hattan, so he took the name Potts, an homage to a close friend of his, and a statement against his estranged father.”**

Steve couldn’t believe it. He thought he had two options to regain his body, that if he didn’t manage to break the contract, or if Stark kicked him out, he would still have a chance with Potts. But there was no Potts. Potts was Stark, and that meant that Steve had no other choice but to stay in the moving castle.

He felt a bit faint.

He staggered over to the couch, letting himself fall down on it.

He was stuck with Stark. Stark, who ate young people’s hearts, Stark who lied about his identity. Stark, who now held all the power over Steve’s recovery from the curse. If the Sorcerer Supreme hadn’t been gone, he could have asked him, but that wasn’t an option anymore.

He hated it.

Stark was a liar, and a coward. Why was he hiding behind masks?

Anthony’s Sorcery. The Great Magician Potts. Wizard Stark.

Was Stark even his real name?

He didn’t want to think about it. So what if Stark couldn’t settle on an identity? So what if he was nice to his customers? So what if he practically gave away his spells to the poor? So what if Steve was allowed to stay? So what if his smiles made Steve’s heart stop? So what if he’d saved Steve’s life? So what?

He was still a bad man at his core, was still a heartless monster that murdered people.

How could Steve have ignored that? How could he live with this fiend, how could he help him, when he knew what he did during the nights? Steve was just as bad as Stark if he didn’t say anything about it. How could he? How could he smile and laugh with Stark, turn a blind eye just because the man was charming?

He shot up from the couch, rage burning through his veins, and started throwing everything he could find at the walls. He should burn this whole place down, he should alert the authorities, he should warn the King, he should, he should—

Jarvis was calling his name, had he been calling his name all this time? Steve stopped for a moment, but the room was still too neat, he didn’t care that he was destroying his own work, all the hours he had spent making it clean and orderly, he just wanted to _destroy_. Jarvis could keep on calling his name, but it wouldn’t stop Steve.

He grabbed a glass bottle, half full with a yellow liquid, threw it, and it shattered on the floor, the impact sending spell papers flying. Immediately, a sour smell rose, and Steve watched in horror as the tiles started decomposing before his very eyes. What had been in the bottle? Were the fumes dangerous? Oh God, what was he doing?

Jarvis pulsed, once, twice, three times, sending out a powerful wave of compressed air right at Steve. It knocked him over, just as Stark threw open the door, completely surrounded by the blue glow. He flew to Steve, made a complicated gesture with his fingers, screaming something.

Everything stopped.

Steve was suspended in mid-air, the fluttering papers frozen in place, the wood not decomposing any further. Jarvis and Stark were moving, but everything else was immobile, including Steve. Stark muttered under his breath, drew a circle in the air, and the wood was back to normal again. The bottle was still empty, but Stark picked it up carefully, then threw it into the fire, right into Jarvis’ maw. It disappeared with a crunch. Then Stark put everything else back to its rightful place in a matter of seconds.

Steve wondered why Stark hadn’t used that ability before, when Steve was breaking his back cleaning everything up.

When the kitchen was spotless again, Stark flicked his finger, and Steve floated to the couch. He could move again as soon as his back hit the cushions.

“Now that this is taken care of, do any of you mind telling me what the _hell_ you were doing?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who comments. <333

Steve had never seen Stark this angry before.

“Here I was, talking to a beautiful redhead, when you send me a distress signal, and what do I see when I enter the castle? Rogers is throwing extremely dangerous spells around, and you’re attempting to _injure_ him? Have you both gone out of your _minds_?”

Steve didn’t know what to say.

“This isn’t a _fucking_ rhetorical question!”

_I didn’t know that Stark was the kind of man to swear_ , Steve thought absently.

Stark was glowing now, his hair rising up in a threatening halo, his eyes icy blue. He was floating a few centimetres above the floor.

Steve realised he better come up with something before all hell broke loose.

But what could Steve say? That he’d started throwing a fit because he’d realised that Potts and Stark were the same person? That he was furious at himself for ignoring Stark’s darker side just because he was marginally friendly? That Jarvis had good reason to stop Steve?

Sulkily, Steve sat up on the couch, grabbing one of the cushions to prevent himself from making fists, and glared at Stark.

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t be in this situation if you weren’t a liar.”

Any hopes of deescalating the situation flew right out the window.

The blue halo pulsed before dimming slightly, giving Stark a more human appearance. His face was blank, but Steve had seen the flash of hurt before the expression had been wiped off Stark’s face. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. Stark was a liar, and it was his own fault if hearing it hurt him.

“You act like you’re so much better than all of us, not even taking care of your business, always running after the next pretty face, but you’re just a lying, arrogant egoist underneath. You hide behind other identities, you don’t care about the consequences of your actions. Not to mention that you _murder_ people in cold blood. Honestly, I don’t even know why I haven’t left this place weeks ago.”

The blank face had morphed into raised eyebrows and a slack jaw.

“Don’t you ever think about others? Don’t you care about the families your conquests leave behind? Or do you just sell them a spell to help with their mourning? How does it feel, to dupe everyone around you? I bet you laugh at them, at the poor people thinking they’re dealing with a respectable magician instead of a vile murderer?”

How dared he? How dared he act like that, like life was just a big joke, when he destroyed those of the people around him?

“I—what? What are you talking about?”

And he had the nerve to pretend that he didn’t know what Steve was alluding to? Well, Steve could be very explicit if he had to, and he wanted to, wanted to rub it in Stark’s face.

“I’m talking about you seducing gorgeous young adults, killing them, and eating their hearts.”

Stark’s eyes were so wide that Steve could see every different shade of blue in them.

Across the kitchen, Jarvis had stopped crackling.

“Eating—eating hearts?”

Why was Stark still acting surprised?

“Yes. What else are you doing then, every time you spend the day out?”

“I—I don’t eat hearts. That would be a little too ironic, even for me. Where have you even heard those stories?”

Was Stark trying to _deny_ what he was doing? Steve couldn’t believe his ears.

“Stop lying to me! I know what you’re doing, why can’t you just own up to it? Everyone knows!”

The blue glow around Stark had completely disappeared by now, his hair back in its normal shape, his feet touching the ground once more. He sat down heavily on the floor and turned towards the fireplace.

“Jarvis, a little help?”

At these words, the fire demon seemed to rouse from its paralysed state.

**“Of course, sir. Steve, you know that I never lie. Master Stark has never seduced anyone to kill them and eat their hearts. Furthermore, he has never killed innocent people, nor eaten any human hearts. Those rumours are exactly what they are, mere hearsay.”**

And that, that didn’t make sense, because Steve was sure of it, he’d heard those old ladies, heard about the disappearances from Mrs. Carter herself, he knew that Jarvis had to be lying. Except that Steve knew for a fact that fire demons could not lie. He’d even tested that particular statement with Jarvis, verifying for himself that the information in the books was not erroneous.

But there was still the matter of the skull on the mantel of the fireplace. And the disappearances, and how Stark had been seen with one of the victims. Not to mention the coincidence of the appearance of the castle and the missing men and women.

“People have still been missing. You don’t have anything to do with that?”

Jarvis replied again, in the negative.

Somewhere deep inside of Steve, a part of him breathed out in relief.

But if Stark wasn’t the cause of the disappearances, who could it be? Steve himself had fit the description of the men that went missing, and he’d been approached by Stark. But it had been the Witch of the Waste who had cursed Steve and forced him to leave town.

Could she be the one responsible for the disappearances?

But why would she…

Steve decided to put that thought on hold, and asked:

“And what about the skull?”

Stark frowned, then remembered the skull on the mantel.

“Oh, that. I found it in my garden, and it looked so lonely, I decided to put it here.”

Oh. A garden? No, never mind that, Stark had thought the skull looked _lonely_?

Steve shouldn’t really judge, though, should he? He’d just falsely accused Stark of something horrible. Of course, everything else was still true, but Stark wasn’t a murderer.

“See? I don’t have anything to do with any disappearances, and I will never eat any hearts either, so you can calm down now. I won’t deny the seducing part, but you can’t blame me for looking for a bit of fun, can you?”

There it was again, that cocky smirk, and Steve suddenly felt a lot less bad about assuming false things about Stark.

“Alright, so you’re just a volatile libertine then? Of course, that’s _much_ better.”

Having said his piece of mind, he stormed out of the kitchen and into his bedroom.

* * *

When Steve came back to the kitchen, Stark was nowhere to be seen. It was just as good, if you asked Steve. He really didn’t want to see the man. So he sat in front of the fire, watching Jarvis burn through a birch log. It was soothing, in a way.

Steve knew that he would have to apologise at some point. He’d damaged the castle, possibly endangering Jarvis and himself, and insulted Stark. And he would apologise—he knew his manners, after all—but not right now.

Right now, Steve was thinking about how hopeless his situation really was. He wouldn’t get any help from Stark, not after being that disrespectful towards him, which meant his only hope was to break the contract. But in weeks of searching, he still hadn’t come any further. Jarvis was of no help, never answering any questions that would aid Steve on his quest, choosing to remain silent or deflect instead. It was beyond frustrating, but Steve couldn’t blame Jarvis. After all, his contract prevented him from breaking it or helping anyone break it. And now, Steve didn’t even know if Jarvis would honour his part of the pact even if Steve somehow managed to break the contract. Jarvis was fond of Stark, and he was rightfully angry at Steve for insinuating that he practised black magic and ate people’s hearts.

Steve didn’t know what to do.

He needed to take a break, to gather his thoughts. Usually, he would take a long walk, or work at the docks, or exert himself. But he couldn’t do that anymore. Besides, any kind of physical effort only reminded him how weak he was, and he hated it. He wanted to find a large log and rip it in half, in an effort to release his anger and helplessness, but he was barely able to _lift_ logs anymore.

Steve tried to start a conversation with Jarvis but got pointedly ignored. He walked around the kitchen, looking for something to do. There were no customers to help, he’d cleaned the whole castle already, and dinner was still a long time away. What could he do?

He stopped in front of the dining table. There was a stack of papers, several pieces of charcoal on top, left there by Stark a few days ago when he’d rushed out in the middle of drawing diagrams and complicated designs.

Stark was gone at the moment; he wouldn’t miss a few sheets and a single charcoal stick. Before he could hesitate, Steve took them and hurried back to his room.

He hadn’t taken the time to draw in so long.

* * *

Steve was just finishing an almost abstract drawing of Jarvis when he heard a loud bang. He looked out of his room, and saw the bathroom door open wide, steam billowing out, Stark leaning against the frame, clad in only a white towel that sat extremely low on his hips. He was grabbing his hair in both hands and crying out a steady litany of no’s. Steve stepped out of his room, wondering what was happening, and ended up following Stark downstairs when the wizard slipped into the kitchen and slouched down into the chair near the fireplace. He was still holding his head in his hands, muttering plaintively, a puddle of water forming underneath his chair, dropping from his hair and skin.

“No no no no no no. What have you done. What have you _done_?”

Was he talking to Steve?

“My hair, my skin, no, no, _no!_ I told you, I _told_ you not to clean the bathroom! But you did it, you stubborn man, and you mixed up the jars. I can’t believe it. I worked so hard on this, and now it’s all gone to waste.”

Stark groaned, a long, drawn out sound, and curled in on himself. Steve stepped closer, not really knowing what to say, because Stark had a point. It was very plausible that Steve had messed up while cleaning the jars. He stopped moving forward when he saw what was happening with Starks’ hair.

It was shifting colour, the raven black bleeding out to leave a pale blond behind, which in turn darkened to an orange hue, which turned red, then purple, then blue, green, pink. It stayed pink for a while until it started darkening again until it reached a dark brown. All the while, Stark was moaning and shivering.

When his hair hadn’t changed colour in five minutes, Stark’s face crumpled.

“No… It’s back to its original colour—it’s gone! Everything is gone and everyone will see it and he will see it and I don’t want him to kn—I can’t believe it. It’s not—I can’t live like this. This is—I can’t.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he was supposed to have heard these last sentences, but he stopped wondering about it when he saw that Stark wasn’t moving anymore.

Steve looked at Jarvis, who had a concerned expression (at least, that was how Steve interpreted the duller glowing of the fire). Jarvis turned to look at Steve and spoke quickly:

**“If I am correct in guessing the kind of spell Master Stark has used, it will unwind in quite a messy manner. Could you please help him into the bathtub? Preferably _now_.”**

Meanwhile, Stark seemed to have lost all strength, his head falling dangerously low, his torso bending worryingly. His skin was glistening wetly, then glistening too much for it to be natural. He was taking on a green tinge, his skin mollifying, turning to slime. Soon, there was a pool of slime around Stark, and his whole body was covered in it. It had started flowing into the fireplace from where it dripped from Stark’s head, and Jarvis was retreating as far as he could, urging Steve to take Stark away before he became extinguished.

Steve didn’t really have a choice, did he? He had to help, since this was partially his fault. He braced himself for what was likely to be a painful journey to the bathroom. Steve wasn’t looking forward to carrying Stark, he could already feel his heart beating faster. Reluctantly, he put Stark’s arms around his shoulders, dragging him sideways from the stool. Stark was heavier than he looked. He was also more muscled than Steve would have thought. But he couldn’t ignore it now that he was touching the man. His arms, chest and abdomen were well-defined under the slime.

He resolutely put his gaze on the staircase. He couldn’t start thinking along those lines if he wanted to help Stark. He needed all his strength to make it up the stairs. Stark was still moaning weakly, shuddering at random intervals, and almost unconscious now. He must have used a strong spell for it to have such an unpleasant effect when it was dispelled. Steve just hoped that Stark didn’t need that spell to stay alive. Jarvis didn’t seem too alarmed, so Steve decided he wouldn’t be either.

But then he saw that wherever there was slime on the ground, shadows pooled around it. They seemed to come from the slime, rising up from the floor and growing taller, crawling up the walls, reaching for Steve’s feet. He almost tripped when one brushed his ankle and tried to curl around it. They were morphing into menacing forms with sharp claws and pointy teeth, whispering unintelligible words. They gave away the same aura as the black door, and Steve knew he couldn’t let them touch him.

Jarvis was busy fending the shadows off, his glow brightening and dimming in a rhythm known only to him. He shouted at Steve, who was already at the foot of the staircase, to go faster and douse Stark in warm water once he was in the tub. Steve concentrated on dragging Stark without missing a step.

He was halfway up when he felt something slip past his hip and onto the floor. When he looked back, half expecting to see a blob of Stark’s body (His hip? A part of his leg?), he was met with the sight of the soppy towel a few steps lower.

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Stark’s naked back, and the curve of his bottom, and… he stared right ahead, purposefully ignoring the fact that he was carrying a very naked, very attractive man upstairs.

He was not thinking about it.

Besides, Stark was covered in goop, Steve was panting like an old dog, so it wasn’t really—It wasn’t—It wasn’t like that.

He got to the bathroom just as the shadows reached the top of the staircase, slithering along the floor, hissing softly. It took two tries to get Stark into the bathtub, but as soon as the warm water touched his skin, the slime started evaporating, the shadows with it. After a minute, the yellowish steam surrounding Stark was gone, along with any trace of the slime. Stark was himself again, sat in the water, his lower half obscured by the murky water—for which Steve was infinitely grateful. It hadn’t exactly been easy to do all that without catching a glimpse of something… private—Stark was himself again, but there were notable differences. His hair, of course, was one of them. Where it had been pitch-black, it was now a dark brown with a golden glint. His skin was different, too. Less silky smooth, more marred. His hands were scarred, small nicks and cuts and burns. He had small scars everywhere on his body, even across one of his eyebrows. It was barely visible, but it was there, where there had been nothing but skin half an hour ago.

Was it a cosmetic spell? Just a spell to hide his imperfections? But why had Stark gone into such a state if it was nothing but a superficial spell?

Steve got the answer to his own question when his gaze fell on Stark’s chest.

The scars couldn’t be anything other than magical in nature. They were a dark blue, just under the skin, and fanned out from the centre of his chest, just next to his heart. They all originated from a crude circle, and spread out across the chest, the ones reaching the furthest circling a nipple and licking the collarbone. They seemed alive, almost, as if they would start moving any moment. Steve stared and stared, but apart from a faint rippling under the scars, nothing changed, which didn’t reassure Steve in the slightest.

What were those scars? They looked nefarious, almost poisonous. And Stark hadn’t had those when he’d stormed out of the bathroom earlier. Which meant that this was most likely the reason that Stark had cast this spell on himself. Not to hide his hair colour, or his small scars, but to hide the serious scarring on his chest.

Steve looked away when he saw that Stark was awake. He was inspecting his hands in silence, turning them this and that way, tracing the edges of cuts and burns. He sighed and looked up at Steve, sporting a crooked smile.

“Well. This is embarrassing. I’m sorry for that tantrum down there. And… thank you for cleaning me up.”

Oh, right. Steve didn’t know where to look, so he settled on staring at his feet, murmuring:

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry about messing up the jars. I’m sorry—I’m sorry about getting angry earlier, too, that was uncalled for.”

“Don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge, and all that. Besides, I don’t really bla—anyways. Don’t mind the jars. It was just a little cosmetic spell, something to nurture my vanity, you know how it is. Don’t want anyone to see ugly burns or scars, right? It would hurt my reputation.”

Stark said it with a wink and a self-depreciating smile, and Steve wondered if Stark really thought he had him fooled. He might have, if he hadn’t seen the mess on his chest, but now Steve knew better. Stark may be fickle, but he wasn’t as vain as he tried to imply.

It wasn’t his business, but Steve was too curious to let it go.

“What about the marks on your chest? How did you get them?”

Stark’s smile vanished in an instant, his hands coming up to hover protectively around the centre of his chest. His eyes were guarded, and Steve knew that what he would say next would be a lie.

“Oh, that? Don’t worry about it, I’m experimenting with symbolism and magical markings on the body, I must have forgotten to clean it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to put on some clothes.”  
And with that, Stark had effectively cut off the conversation. Steve excused himself from the bathroom to give him privacy and started cleaning up the leftover slime from the stairs and floor. When he was back in the kitchen, Jarvis was unharmed, but his eyes were still troubled. He asked Steve if he had seen anything strange, and Steve knew that Jarvis knew about the marks, or at least suspected they were there. He told Jarvis about them nonetheless, his suspicions confirmed when Jarvis became even more worried.

There was something going on with Stark, something that Stark was trying to hide, and which was most likely dangerous.

Did it have something to do with the contract?

Steve would have to ask Jarvis about it, but not now, because Stark was walking down the stairs, clad in a flamboyant attire. Steve couldn’t help but notice that it went up to Stark’s neck, hiding any marks. Clean and clothed again, Stark exuded a different kind of beauty than before. There was something less artificial about him, as if he’d lost one of his fake layers, revealing a little more of who he was.

It seemed that the man was a lot more complex and nuanced than Steve had first thought.

More beautiful, too. His new hair colour suited him even better than the colour he’d had before. It added a touch of lightness, almost. His eyes were the same as always, though. Hard behind a gentle exterior. Steve wondered what Stark was thinking.

“Rogers, Jarvis, sorry again. I had something to tell you both after taking my bath, and I will say it now. I received a letter from Rh—the King. He’s been requesting I come to an audience with him. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he wants me to become court sorcerer.”

“Wasn’t Doctor Strange the court sorcerer?”

“Yes, well, since Strange disappeared when he was sent to confront the Witch of the Waste after she threatened the King, the position is open. And the King wants me. But I really, really can’t accept his offer. So I’m going to ask for your help to convince him I’m not suited for the position. All right?”

What? The King was asking him, no, _requesting_ it be him, and he wanted to refuse? Was he out of his mind? There was no way Steve was helping him with that, anyway. Stark would just have to suck it up and do his duty.

“I don’t think I will, are you even listening to yourself—”

“All right, perfect, we’ll talk about this later, goodbye!”

Stark was gone, again, leaving a faint smell of metal and honey as he strode out of the door and disappeared into the sky. He hadn’t listened to a word Steve had said.

“Where is he going, anyway? Why is he always so eager to leave this place?”

To his surprise, Jarvis answered:

**“A few weeks ago, he met this lovely young woman. She has struck his fancy, and he is spending his free time trying to woo her. I do not think he has been very successful; this young Natasha is not easy to seduce.”**

Surely it couldn’t be…

“Please tell me this Natasha is not a red-haired apprentice at the Shield guild.”

**“Indeed, she is. Do you perchance know her?”**

“She’s my sister!”

He couldn’t believe it. Why did everything have to go wrong with Stark and Steve?

_I guess that’s just the first-borne curse for you, Steve,_ he thought. _I mean, since Natasha left, you’ve been bewitched, you’ve realised that the only man that could help you was Stark, and now he’s trying to seduce your sister. Well, at least he won’t try to eat her heart._

But that didn’t mean that he would let Stark get away with it. He had to warn Natasha away before he managed to make her fall for him, because he would just leave her with a broken heart and an angry soul.

Huh, wouldn’t that be a sight, Natasha threatening Stark. His little sister, in all her glory, staring down a man much taller than her.

Steve’s mirth at the mental imagery disappeared when he remembered that Stark was powerful enough that the King wanted him to be court sorcerer, and realised that the further Natasha was from him, the better.

He had to warn her.


	5. Chapter 5

He needed to leave as soon as possible, but which door should he leave through? The port? Ma’Hattan? The hills?

The hills would be best, he thought, because he could walk down to Brooklyne and take a horse cab to Shield from there. It wasn’t that far, and he had the money required, since Stark payed him for the household duties and the shop keeping. If he left immediately after the wizard, he would be able to get back in just under two days.

When Stark left for the day, Steve put on his heavy coat and his shoes, took a slice of bread with bacon on it as his meal, and bid Jarvis goodbye. The fire demon was confused, trying to keep Steve inside the castle, asking where he was going. Steve assured him he would not be gone long, that the castle was clean and stocked with food and that they would survive just fine without him for two days. Jarvis settled down when he understood that Steve would be back.

He asked Jarvis to slow down the castle enough to let him jump off it without difficulty, which the fire demon did. He opened the door, enjoying the brisk breeze on his face, looked out over the grass, and slammed the door shut again with a scream.

He opened it carefully again, just a little, and observed the hills through the slit.

The scarecrow.

The scarecrow was hopping along the castle, the cloth fluttering in the wind, bouncing up and down and getting dangerously close to reaching the door. Of course, _of course_ it had to be a magic scarecrow. Apparently, Steve couldn’t catch a break. Ever since he’d met the Witch, it had been one thing after the other. What next, was the grey dog secretly a bloodthirsty werewolf?

Why was everything and everyone determined to make Steve’s life so miserable? Was it not enough to be born first? Or was that the reason for all his misfortune?

Why was the scarecrow here? Who knew what it wanted? Maybe it was haunted by a ghost? Maybe it needed help? Again?

He opened the door wider, and the scarecrow leaped at him, arms swinging wildly, one of them hitting Steve square in the face. He fell backwards, pulling the door closed as he lost his balance, shutting the scarecrow out once more.

Steve rubbed his nose and thought about what had just happened. The scarecrow had attacked him, and almost managed to enter the castle. It’d been clearly hostile. Maybe it was angry that Steve had pulled it out of the bushes. Why, though, Steve had no idea.

He needed to push the scarecrow back somehow, and then he could ask Jarvis to speed up again so that they could lose it. If only he had his old body! He would have been able to push it, or even throw it away! As he was now, he didn’t have the strength. He needed something to amplify what little force he had, but what?

He saw the perfect tool on the counter. A frying pan, nice and heavy, with a good momentum if he swung it with both his hands. Also, it was large enough to act as a shield if the scarecrow attacked him. Steve took it and went back to the door, opening it cautiously and peering outside. The scarecrow was right were he’d last seen it, barely a metre from the door, swinging its arms around. Steve grit his teeth, waited until it was within hitting distance, and flung the pan as hard as he could. It almost flew out of his hands, but it did its job: it hit the scarecrow dead on, which dropped instantly. Steve screamed at Jarvis to make the castle run faster and made sure they were a good distance from the downed scarecrow before telling Jarvis to slow down to his original speed again. He closed the door, his arms heavy and legs wobbly, dropped the pan on the floor with a clang, and collapsed on the sofa.

The combination of heavy lifting—that was what counted as heavy lifting, now: a _pan_ —, emotional stress, and the physical exertion of swinging the pan was too much for Steve. His arms hurt, he felt like there was a weight on his chest, and he was almost positive that he’d sprained one of his wrists. He was _exhausted_. He couldn’t even stand up, much less leave the castle in this state. Maybe he should take a nap. He could sleep, just for a little while, and then he would travel to Natasha. Just twenty minutes, to get his energy back.

* * *

Steve woke up with a start. Stark was leaning over him, shaking his shoulder, talking to him.

“Hey, Steve, are you okay? How are you? Jarvis told me you weren’t feeling well?”

_Ughhhhhh. Did I sleep trough the day? Ouch. My wrist hurts. And my chest is heavy. And I’m so tired…_

“No, I’m fine, I was just a bit tired.”

Steve sat up and repressed a wince as his joints screamed at him that sleeping on the sofa had _not_ been a good idea. He rubbed his wrist, trying to warm it up a little, and hissed when he jostled it. Steve wasn’t making a very convincing point, was he? He didn’t know what kind of expression he was making, but the grimace that Stark made hinted that he’d let on more than he wanted. Stark gently pushed Steve down again, and Steve was too tired to protest. When he’d crouched down to Steve’s eye-level, Stark asked him, not ungently:

“So, want to tell me what really happened?”

Steve figured it couldn’t hurt to tell him, since nothing bad had happened. Besides, he had the feeling that Stark wouldn’t let it go, if his intense gaze was anything to go by.

“I pulled out a scarecrow from a bush a while ago, and this morning I opened the door and it was following the castle, trying to get in. So I grabbed a pan and hit it with it. I think we managed to lose it.”

Steve didn’t like how Stark’s lips were curling upwards, his eyes twinkling merrily.

“You smacked a scarecrow with a frying pan? Wow. That, uh, that must have been exhausting. Good job, by the way, thank you for protecting my castle.”

Stark was outright grinning now, looking between Steve and the frying pan as if he was imagining the scene.

“You’re very courageous, St—Rogers. My knight in shining armour. You know what, I’m going to promote you to Captain of the guard of the moving castle, what do you say, Rogers?”

**“Sir, I believe you should address him with his title. Captain, congratulations on the promotion.”**

Steve spluttered, trying to understand how they’d gone from Stark waking him up to outright teasing him, Jarvis joining in on the teasing, no less! He was a bit embarrassed that they were making fun of him, even if he understood that they meant well. But captain? That was taking the joke a bit too far, wasn’t it? Steve was hardly fit to be captain of anything in his current body.

“You’re right, Jarvis, how could I be so forgetful? I’ll do better next time, Cap.”

Stark winked at him, still laughing, and Steve couldn’t find it in himself to ask him to stop.

It was nice, he thought, to have a nickname. It was quite flattering, too. Not to mention that no one had ever given Steve a nickname before (apart from his mother, of course, but that didn’t count). He could live with being called Cap.

“All right, all right, I get it, it wasn’t very glamorous. But I’ll accept the promotion, thank you. As long as it comes with a pay raise.”

It was his turn to laugh at the flabbergasted expression on Stark’s face. Never let it be said that Steve couldn’t taunt back.

Laughing turned out to be a bad idea, unfortunately, because it reminded Steve that he wasn’t feeling up to the mark. His laughter turned into hacking coughs, and when he finally got his breath back, Stark was standing over him, staring at him concernedly. He muttered something under his breath, fussed over Steve a little bit, rearranging the cushions under him and covering him in a blanket—Steve didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was way too warm for a blanket. He was just happy to be taken care of—and took a step back.

“Okay. I don’t like this, so I’m going to cast a little healing spell to make you better. Agreed? Agreed.”

Two clicks and three snaps later, Steve was feeling fresh as a daisy. The ache in his wrist was gone, his joints weren’t cracking ominously anymore, he could take a full breath again. He thanked Stark warmly, to which the man avoided his eyes and mumbled something about it being the least he could do. He looked Steve over one last time, visibly reassuring himself that he was fine, before retreating to the chair in front of the fire.

Jarvis did the equivalent of arching his brows at Stark, which Stark ignored with a huff.

The room stayed silent until Steve cleared his throat.

“Well, now that I’m feeling better, maybe we could make dinner?”

Dinner was a quiet affair, Stark not being his usually talkative self. In a somewhat desperate attempt to get him to talk, Steve mentioned the King: when was Stark going to the audience? It fulfilled its purpose, because Stark started gesturing and talking animatedly about how he could absolutely not accept the request. The King was making a mistake, he proclaimed. Everyone knew that it was a bad idea to appoint Stark as the Sorcerer Supreme, especially after the former one had been defeated by the Witch of the Waste. The King had sent a new letter, requesting that Stark present himself at the court within the week, and what was Stark to do?

“Maybe you could, I don’t know, go? That’s a possibility.”

“Now come on, Cap, nobody asked you to be such a sarcastic imp. I just can’t go, okay? Trust me. Gods, I can’t believe the King wants me to go look for the Sorcerer Supreme. In what world would that end well, huh? Jarvis, tell Cap how bad an idea this is.”

“I thought that Dr. Strange was dead?”

**“He might be, captain, but he might as well be imprisoned somewhere in the Witch’s castle. We will not know before we make sure of his death, which is impossible without confronting the Witch.”**

Why was Stark so adamantly against confronting her? He wasn’t helpless against her, not if the King thought he had a chance to battle against her and win. Why would the King ask for him, otherwise? Was Stark such a coward, that he didn’t even want to try?

Steve was tempted to draw that conclusion, but he had the disagreeable habit of jumping to the wrong ones, especially in regard to Stark.

“Why exactly don’t you want to approach the Witch, Stark? Because from here, it looks a lot like cowardice. But I don’t think that’s the reason, is it?”

Jarvis swallowed a log loudly, crackling everywhere. If Steve had interpreted that correctly, it corresponded to a human clearing their throat. Stark put his head in his hands and sighed deeply, gazing at his plate.

“When I was, uh, younger, I had a, how do you say, brief little _something_ with the woman who would later become the, um, Witch of the Waste. And it might have ended in a way that wasn’t completely satisfactory for her. And she might not really have forgiven me.”

He hadn’t looked up from the table, one of his hands pressing against his chest. Steve gawked at him, gobsmacked.

“You were in a _relationship_ with her? And then _you_ broke up with _her_? And she still resents you for that? _Am I hearing this right?_ ”

No wonder Stark didn’t want anything to do with her! Bad enough that she attacked sorcerers and threatened kings, but it was personal between Stark and her, which meant that everything would be worse.

“I know! I know. It was a long time ago, alright? But it’s a little problematic. Because the King doesn’t care one bit about my past relationships—says it’s my own fault, I’ll show him “my own fault”, just you see—and I need a reason for him to discard me. He can ask someone else to risk their lives against the Witch, I need to be as far from her as possible. But how can I convince him to—oh. Oh! I know!”

He shot up, grabbing Steve by the shoulders, eyes manic and voice light:

“You’ll be the one to dissuade him! You can go in my stead, pretend you’re my cousin or something, and then you can tell him exactly why I’m not suitable for the position! You can just say mean stuff about me. Oh, yes! Tell him I eat people’s hearts! That should do the trick!”

“What? You want me to speak on your behalf? _What_?”

“Yes, exactly. I’ll tell you exactly what to do once the time comes, but it’s getting late, and I still need to do a quick errand, so why don’t we postpone this conversation, okay? Good night!”

Stark was gone, _again_ , having left before Steve could answer, _again_. They really were following a pattern.

There was nothing to do but cleaning things up and going to bed.

* * *

The next day, Stark was still gone when Steve woke up. He felt good, after a night’s rest, and prepared himself two meals before stepping out of the door once more. He was going to see Natasha, and there was no scarecrow in sight to mess with his plans. He took a few steps away from the castle but stopped when he heard a deep huff and sigh from behind him. The castle had stopped moving, resting on its legs and letting out steam in steady streams. Was there something going on? The castle had never stopped moving before! Steve went inside again, just to check, he told himself.

There was nothing wrong with Jarvis.

Why had he stopped?

**“I hoped you would come back. Sir would not want you to leave the castle so soon after being ill.”**

“What, doesn’t he think I can handle myself?”

**“No, he is just worried about you.”**

Oh. Well. Of course he would be worried, Steve worked for him, after all. If he was ill, he couldn’t cook or clean, could he? That was why Stark was worried. Naturally.

“Fine, but I still need to meet Natasha. I really miss her and I want to see her.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. Jarvis didn’t need to hear any more negative opinions about Stark.

**“I understand, captain, but it would make sir feel better if you used a safe means of transportation. He has built quite a few himself that would aid you in reaching your destination as fast as possible.”**

That was… not bad at all. Kind, even. Steve accepted readily and was directed down to the workshop. There, a blue glow surrounded the handle before the door opened by itself. Steve didn’t stop to think about what that meant, that Jarvis was letting him inside the only space that Stark hadn’t permitted him into. There was a small flame flickering in the air, a part of Jarvis, most likely. Steve followed it into the workshop where it stopped above a peculiar contraption. It looked like a suit of armour, something a knight would wear, but at the same time, it was completely different. The colours, for one, were bright red and gold, alternating in an aesthetically pleasing pattern. It looked sleeker, too. More modern and fast. It glowed lightly. It was clearly designed for Stark, as it was too tall for Steve, but the flame seemed to insist he put it on. He stepped inside of it, slightly apprehensive, and jolted when it closed around him. Immediately, his heart began beating faster. What was he doing, climbing into magical suits of armour? It was as if he was asking to get cursed even worse, God.

**“I will be guiding you to your destination.”**

Jarvis’ voice resonated around him, cracklier in the enclosed space, but somehow more intimate as well. Steve settled down. It made sense that Jarvis had some kind of control of the armour, since he controlled the castle. It had to be more difficult to control a whole building than a mere suit, so Steve should be just fine.

He watched, awed, as the armour levitated out of the workshop, up to the kitchen, and out of the castle. Jarvis was still burning in the fireplace, sending him a full-body wave goodbye as a part of him took charge of the armour.

Well away from the castle, the armour gained altitude, flying properly now, set in a straight horizontal line with hands and feet pointed behind it. It looked forward and slightly down, and Steve admired the view. It was breath-taking. The grass swaying in the wind, the numerous lakes and ponds in the valleys, the small villages and towns, all passed under him, so far away that he couldn’t make out the people milling around. It was humbling, realising how small he was in comparison to the land, but simultaneously, it was exhilarating. Flying high above everyone, nothing around him save for air, the freedom was immense. He could forget everything up here, forget how weak he was, while he was flying and soaring through the skies.

He could fly for hours. Or more accurately, he could be flown for hours. Because there was no mistaking that Jarvis was the one in control. It didn’t bother Steve; he was more than happy with being flown around as long as he could enjoy the view. It was one less thing to think about. He could enjoy the flight, let his thoughts wander where he wanted, all with no fear of crashing or missing his destination. Speaking of, how far where they from Shield?

At his question, Jarvis assured him that they would arrive within moments. Soon after, Steve saw the vast grounds of the guild for the first time. Natasha had sent him letters, describing the place, but they hadn’t done justice to the real thing. The manor—or should he say castle—was hidden in the middle of a thick forest. From ground level, it would be impossible to find it without knowing the way in. From above, Steve could appreciate the strategic placement of the castle: it had a high tower that was a particularly good vantage point over the whole valley. Not far from it, large clearings could hold outdoors training sessions. There was a lake not too far, the mountains less than five kilometres away. It was an ideal placement for a secretive and elitist guild. The grounds and architectural structures looked pristine and well-maintained. As he flew lower and lower, Steve recognised the faint shimmering in the air that betrayed a magical barrier. He set foot in front of the main entrance, the armour retracting around him and reforming half a meter behind him. It would protect him in a heartbeat, Steve knew. He could feel it, the protective intent.

It was heart-warming. He wondered if Jarvis was that protective of Steve, or if maybe Stark had told him to defend Steve. He scoffed at himself; now was not the time to daydream. He squared his shoulders and drew himself up as much as he could. He knocked on the heavy gate.


	6. Chapter 6

He was met with a man in bland, formal clothing, who introduced himself as Sir Coulson, and led Steve to a private garden. Sir Coulson left him alone after instructing him to sit down and wait. He hadn’t mentioned the ever-present armour, or even asked why Steve was here. Did he have mind reading powers, perhaps? Steve wouldn’t put it past him. His smile was unnerving.

It didn’t take long before a man entered the garden. He was tall, clad in shining black leather, an impressive cape billowing behind him as he walked. He had a scowl on his face, the lines etched deep in his dark skin. He wore an eyepatch covering a sizable scar.

Steve instantly knew that he was in the presence of the guild leader, Lord Nicholas Fury. He was renowned for his excellent intelligence work and faithful service to the King. Rumours had it he had been instrumental in defeating the invading forces of the Hydra kingdom ten years ago. He was not a man to be trifled with, to put it shortly. Steve stood up and bowed slightly, to which Lord Fury responded with a curt nod.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Steve Rogers. I apologize for not letting you see your sister, but she is in training and shouldn’t be disturbed. I don’t doubt you would have liked to meet me in better circumstances, but you will get the help you’re looking for. It is a heavy curse you’re under, but you have the tools at your disposal to lift it.”

The words were so unexpected that Steve could only gape at Lord Fury.

“I have my sources, of course. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Stark about your identity, nor the curse. But you should be informed that anyone involved with him in any way becomes a person of interest to the King, and thus to Shield. All for the kingdom’s security, you see.”

His smile had too many teeth to be friendly. Steve realised he might be in over his head, and suddenly he was glad that he had Jarvis at his back. The armour hadn’t moved, but it glowed warmly at Steve’s side. He decided to ignore the unsettling fact that he was being watched, preferring to address the matter of interest.

“Then you might know why I’m here?”

“I do. Natasha has been enjoying many visits lately, from a certain Mr. Hellrung, a very handsome and charming man. He’s smitten, that much is clear, and she enjoys the attention. Naturally, we all know who Hellrung _really_ is, and Natasha is under strict orders not to accept his advances, just leave enough hints that she might be interested, to make him come back. You see, being on good terms with Stark is beneficial to us. I’ll only tell you because I know you care more about Natasha than Stark, but we’re hoping that he starts giving presents to her. Or that he decides to ally himself to the guild. We could use someone with his skillset.”

Steve’s heart unclenched, his relief that Natasha wasn’t falling for Stark all-encompassing. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to meet her, but it was good enough knowing that what he’d been afraid of wasn’t going to happen. But he didn’t like the manipulative streak of Lord Fury and liked even less that he was roping Natasha into his machinations. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though.

He wondered what Natasha thought about this. Did she agree with the guild leader? She was a very goal-oriented person, Steve knew, and was more calculating than himself. He didn’t know if he approved that about her, but he understood that where he could use his brute strength to intimidate people or win fights, she had to rely on her wits. She was whip-smart and wasn’t afraid to use it to outsmart others. Now that he thought about it, this might be right up her alley. He would have to ask her the next time they saw each other.

As for Stark… He felt a little bad that he was being led on like that, but not enough to pity him. Stark was bound to fall into such a trap sooner or later, anyhow, with his propensity for courting every pretty thing he laid his eyes upon.

Really, it was good that Natasha wasn’t interested. It meant that Stark wouldn’t be in a relationship anytime soon, and that was good.

Because Steve didn’t want another mouth to feed, of course.

He thanked Lord Fury and asked for news about his sister. She was as hard-working as she had ever been, striking a quick friendship with one of the other apprentices, the lord told Steve. She was very promising and had already climbed the ranks of the guild in the short time she’d been here. She had immediately understood that there was more to Stark than met the eye when the wizard had first approached her and she had reported to her superiors with surprising insight. She’d even assured them that she would never fall in love with him, because her heart belonged to someone else already.

Natasha was in love with someone? Who was it? Could Steve see them?

“That’s, that’s great news, my lord. Do you know who that might be?”

“Is your brotherly protectiveness kicking in, Mr. Rogers? Unfortunately, you won’t be able to meet him, because he’s under a curse that is at least as heavy as yours. We’re doing all we can to help him, Natasha most of all, but it’s an arduous process.”

What a pity. He’d hoped to meet the man that Natasha loved, because she’d never loved easily, much less used the word to describe her feelings towards anyone. This was the first time he’d heard about her talking about love, and he was curious to meet the man worthy of that affection. It would have to wait, however. Maybe he could help them when he got rid of his own curse?

_If I even manage to get rid of it,_ Steve pondered _. I can’t find a single thing about the contract, and now Stark wants me to meet the King, and I’ll never find the time to break my curse if I keep on doing other things._

Beside Steve, the armour collapsed into itself, the glow gone. Steve immediately crouched, fists up, looking for the danger, mind frantically hoping that Jarvis wasn’t hurt. In front of him, Lord Fury had dropped into a fighting stance, eye wary and alert.

There was nothing out of place wherever Steve looked. What could possibly have targeted Jarvis alone?

Sir Coulson came running in, whispering furiously at the lord’s ear for a moment before running away as swiftly as he came. Lord Fury straightened up, eyeing the armour inquisitively.

“Stark has entered our domain. I suspect he doesn’t know of your presence, and that the armour was using his magic? Which would explain why it deactivated.”

He was right, Steve noticed. Stark would recognise Jarvis’ magic, since it was tied to his own, so Jarvis decided to leave the armour instead of alerting Stark. It made Steve fell warm, that the fire demon went to such lengths to help him. He would have to thank Jarvis thoroughly. And leave before Stark saw him.

“You’re right. If I could ask you for a favour, would you please help me exit the guild domain without getting noticed by Stark?”

Lord Fury smirked slightly but acquiesced. He gave Steve a sky-blue cloth to put the armour pieces in—it had to be infused with some kind of magic to make the armour easier to carry, Steve mused—and they were walking back towards the entrance when something ran into Steve from behind, scattering the pieces of armour everywhere and knocking Steve to the ground. The thing had managed to tangle itself into the cloth, snarling and twisting in a fruitless effort to be free. Sir Coulson came running soon after, apologising profusely for losing the dog. He extricated the dog from the cloth, hoisting it up into his arms, and Steve gasped in surprise as he saw it. It was the same dog he’d freed from under the bush all those weeks ago! What was it doing in the Shield guild, of all places?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over him. He saw Stark and immediately jumped at him, I tried to chase him away, I didn’t know you were walking here, my lord, Mr. Rogers.”

“Don’t worry about it, Coulson. You can put him back in my quarters, I’ll let him run around after Stark leaves again.”

The dog was Lord Fury’s? It made even less sense. He wasn’t the kind of man who had dogs, Steve thought. And why had the dog attacked Stark? Was there some bad blood there as well? What in the world could Stark have done to anger a _dog_?

He wanted to ask Stark, but that would only arouse unwanted questions from the wizard. Maybe Jarvis knew. Speaking of, he needed to get out of Shield grounds as soon as possible. Lord Fury wasn’t malicious, but Steve would feel safer with the armour at his back. He put the pieces back into the cloth and walked the rest of the way to the front gate, where he thanked Lord Fury for his time and promised to come back to see Natasha.

The moment he was out of the gate, the armour reassembled itself, Jarvis apologizing softly for the abrupt disappearance, Steve reassuring him that it wasn’t a problem, and thanking him for the help.

* * *

Flying back, Steve thought about the things he had learned that day. Natasha knew who Stark was, and was in love with someone else, who was also cursed. Stark would not break her heart, and for that Steve was grateful. But there was something about what Lord Fury had said that made him wonder. He’d said that Stark was “clearly smitten”. Jarvis had said something similar the day before. Was Stark serious about Natasha?

“Jarvis, do you think that Stark is in love with Natasha?”

**“Of course not.”**

Oh. Well, that was direct, at least.

“And how do you know?”

**“Master Stark always takes great care to appear good-looking to his would-be conquests. If his hair is immaculate, if his clothes are rich and beautiful, he is only interested in dazzling them. The day he falls in love, he will forget to spend so much time on his appearance.”**

That would make things easier. If neither Natasha nor Stark were seriously interested in each other, there wouldn’t be any hurt feelings when the courtship ended. Steve didn’t approve of Stark’s frivolous courting, but it was better than him loving his sister.

“Has Stark ever loved someone?”

**“He loved the Witch of the Waste, but it wasn’t enough to keep them together. In the end, they were not meant to be.”**

And that was another thing Steve wondered about. Why had Stark and the Witch been in a relationship? What had Stark seen in her? Her looks? She was the opposite of Steve from before the curse: petite, dark-haired, dark-eyed. Maybe that was what Stark liked?

He couldn’t be too averse to blondes, could he?

And why exactly was Steve thinking that? It had nothing to do with Natasha, nor with anything important.

* * *

They came back to the castle just in time for lunch.

Steve asked Jarvis about Shield, and why they wanted Stark’s favours. If they needed his skills, couldn’t they buy them from him in Ma’hattan? Lord Fury had to know that Potts was Stark, right? By the way, why wasn’t Stark part of a guild?

Jarvis told him that Stark liked the freedom of not being part of any association or guild. He wanted to be able to live where he wanted, do what he wanted, and help those he wanted to help. He had chosen the port town, Porthaven, because it was one of the towns with the most people in need. All these poor people who Stark undercharged, they wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t given them healing spells and food when he’d first arrived in town.

“Stark did that?”

It didn’t really surprise Steve, to be honest. He’d been surprised at first when he discovered that Stark wasn’t charging them enough, but it made sense in a weird way. Steve himself was essentially living in Stark’s house for free, eating and sleeping without paying anything. Stark had even given him clothing after a few days spent in the castle. “To be more presentable”, Stark had said, but Steve suspected it was because the wizard had seen that he had worn the same clothes three days in a row.

Stark was kinder than Steve had expected.

He asked Jarvis about it. Was it a one-time thing, the Porthaven charity?

As it turned out, it wasn’t. Jarvis had multiple examples of people Stark had taken in until they could continue on with their life. He’d found a teenager on his porch, once, and instead of sending him away, had fed him and housed him until the young man had admitted to being an orphan. The young man had sat on Stark’s porch because he knew no one would dare make him move from such a powerful man’s doorstep. Stark had helped him get an education and now he lived in Queen’s city, specialising in glue-like fluids and arachnids. There was another teenager he had helped, some years after that, a brilliant girl that had lost her father in a street fight. She’d been passionate about automatons, and he had helped her develop her skills in magic and machines. She was living with her mother, now, setting up her own shop, which she’d named Ironheart.

Stark had helped many, Jarvis said, and Steve believed him.

* * *

After lunch, Steve worked on the spells for Anthony’s Sorcery, which were in a neat pile of paper on the table. One was a good luck charm, another one was to help someone draw better (Steve painted a flower and put it in a bottle, the flower was moving around on his paper. He wasn’t surprised anymore, it happened sometimes when he drew now. Steve’s theory was that there was magic in the air in the castle and that it permeated the objects lying around), yet another one was for belly ache. But the spell he had picked up now was…weird. It wasn’t a request, wasn’t a simple charm. Instead, it almost read like a poem.

_“Go and catch a falling star,_

_Get with child a mandrake root,_

_Tell me where all past years are,_

_Or who cleft the Devil’s foot._

_Teach me to hear the mermaids singing,_

_Or to keep off envy’s stinging,_

_And find_

_What wind_

_Serves to advance an honest mind._

Decide what this is about

Write a second verse yourself.”

Steve had never seen a spell like that. Should he follow the instructions? What would that entail? Was he supposed to catch falling stars and teach someone to hear mermaids singing? Should he decide what the spell was about and write the second verse? But what would the second verse even be?

This spell was so different from the ones that Steve had seen before that he was starting to wonder if this wasn’t a joke. Would Stark make that kind of joke? He liked teasing Steve, sure, but this was so different from their usual bickering. Jarvis would know if it was a spell, or something else. Steve showed it to the fire demon, who flickered briefly, turning from blue to an angry red and blue again before Steve could ask what it was about.

**“This is most certainly a spell. I recommend you ask master Stark about it when he comes back.”**

Steve didn’t want to wait for him, who knew when he would be back? He was surely still talking with Natasha. No, Steve wanted to do something, and if he couldn’t find the contract, at least he could help Stark with the spells. And what if this spell was a little trickier than the others? Steve could handle himself; he didn’t need to wait for anyone.

But where should he start? He had to understand who this spell was for, who the “me” was, what it was about, and what the second verse was. It could be a spell to help someone do something difficult, since the instructions he had to follow were nearly impossible to complete. Was it a spell for good luck? But what about the honest mind? Was it to discern who lied and who didn’t? If this was a lie-detecting spell, it would be useful on Stark, Steve mused.

He could also try to do the things on the spell and see where that left him. And if he still couldn’t find the meaning of the spell after doing everything that was written, he would still have gotten further along. Which meant that Steve was going to have to catch a falling star.

Sure, he could do that, piece of cake. He just needed to find a falling star first. And catch it. Who hadn’t done that?

_How in the world am I supposed to catch a_ star _?_

He turned to Jarvis, good, reliable Jarvis, who always had an answer for him.

“How do you catch a falling star?”

**“You go to a place where they touch the earth, and you take one into your hands. But you should not do that.”**

Steve ignored the last sentence.

“Where can I go to see falling stars?”

**“You can only find such a place if it is what your heart desires most.”**

That was a very cryptic answer. Would it work if Steve thought very hard about it? Did he have to walk somewhere and wait for the stars to come to him? Or would he be transported to the place if he desired it? And what did “in his heart” mean, really? Was it enough to think about it, or did it have to be an unconscious desire as well?

Well, there was no harm in trying.

He could walk in the hills for a while and hope for the best. He walked down to the door, and stopped when Jarvis said:

**“I would really recommend against catching a falling star.”**

“Thank you, Jarvis, but I’m going to figure this spell out.”

He walked out, taking in the fresh afternoon air and looking at the surrounding mountains. Behind him, the castle stopped, then turned around. Jarvis was going to follow him, was he not?

Indeed, he was. Steve figured it wasn’t too bad. If something dangerous happened, he could always flee back to the safety of the castle.

He walked and walked and walked.

He thought about seeing falling stars.

He thought about how much he would like to see a falling star.

He thought about how beautiful the stars were and that he would like nothing more than to see a star up close.

He wanted to see a falling star.

He desired it.

He _desired_ it.

He _needed_ to see a falling star, needed to complete the spell, needed to do this.

The hills around him morphed, took on a distinctly orange hue, which morphed into green and ultimately blue. Steve wasn’t in the hills anymore. The castle wasn’t behind him, Jarvis was gone, and he was walking in shallow water, looking up at the starry sky, wind blowing in his hair.

He was alone, so completely alone in this ocean of reflections. There were shapes dancing in the sky, diving into the water, exploding into a million colours upon touching the surface. They were like small suns, if suns were a rainbow of colours, violet playing with pink and green and blue and orange and red and yellow. Steve turned around, watching the stars fall around him, and listened. There was a whispering melody in the air, a faint chime every time a star plunged into the water. Their lights disappeared into the darkness when they touched the surface, a dying spark the only sign that there had ever been a star.

There was someone in the distance. Who was it? Steve needed to know. He started running towards the figure, taking greater and greater strides, until he was tall and strong enough to sprint towards the man, no, boy, standing still in the water. The boy must have been ten, his dark hair glinting in the starlight. He was holding a star in his hands, preventing it from reaching the water. It was jumping wildly around, light spilling from between his fingers. Steve was still running, but he couldn’t come closer. A star fell before him, slipped between his outstretched hands, fizzling out when hitting the water.

Steve knew, in his soul, that the star had died.

These falling stars were killing themselves, he understood. And that boy was saving one of them. He put his hands to his mouth and ate the star, the light pulsing pink and purple in his throat before dying in a midnight blue glow in his chest. Steve cried out loud at that, afraid for the boy, and why wasn’t he getting closer?

Alerted by the sound, the boy turned to him, his eyes a deep, deep blue, and reached out towards Steve. Steve reached back, but he was falling through the water, through the blue and green and orange glow.

He was lying face up in the grassy hills, the castle a steady presence behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens..... 
> 
> I love to hear your theories and thoughts, thank you for sharing them <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter today. I drew some art for chapter 6, [check it out!](https://oluka.tumblr.com/post/630078356983005184/an-illustration-for-my-fic-starks-moving-caste)

Steve had just gotten inside the castle, refusing to tell Jarvis what had happened, when Stark sauntered in, carrying a metal sheet under his arm. He was as pristine as always, his eyes twinkling, a slight smile on his face.

“Should I be worried, Cap? Are you going to steal one of my armours?”

Steve turned to him, feeling his eyes widen. Stark knew?

“Don’t look at me like that. First of all, do you really think I wouldn’t have cast some spells on my workshop’s door? The moment Jarvis opened it, I knew. And then, imagine my surprise when I arrived at the Shield castle and felt Jarvis’ magic! Come on, you can’t have believed that I wouldn’t know? So, what were you doing there?”

Stark didn’t seem angry, only amused, which made Steve feel just foolish, and not foolish and panicked. Jarvis had done his best, but Stark was skilled in magic. Steve should have thought of that earlier.

Why did he never think further than his own nose when it came to matters with Stark? First the thing about the money, then the hearts, and now this. It was as if any common sense leaked out of Steve’s ears as soon as Stark was involved.

Was that a part of his curse, maybe? That he hadn’t just lost his body, but his mind as well? Maybe he was in his bed, and this all was just a dream. It would surely make his life easier.

Unfortunately, Steve knew it wasn’t a dream, because he didn’t have the imagination to come up with all that. Which meant he had to answer Stark.

“I wanted to visit my sister. I haven’t seen her in a long while, and she studies at the Shield guild. I couldn’t see her, though, because she was training. I’m sorry I took your armour, but Jarvis told me I could.”

“No, don’t worry, my home is your home, captain. Next time you want to fly a little, ask me, though. I don’t like letting people into my workshop unsupervised.”

**“Sir, I take full responsibility. Captain Rogers wanted to walk all the way to the guild, and I took the liberty to escort him in a suit instead of letting him make the journey by foot.”**

At that, Stark raised his eyebrows, looking at Steve like he’d grown a second head.

“You wanted to walk all the way there? But that would have taken a day at least! Why didn’t you say anything? I could have taken you with me!”

And wasn’t that the problem? Steve hadn’t told Stark because he didn’t want Stark to know. A lot of good that had done Steve, because whatever he seemed to do, Stark always found a way to know exactly what he’d been doing. There wasn’t any point in trying to be secretive, Steve admitted to himself with resignation. There wasn’t anything to be done, Stark had his magic everywhere in the castle, it was linked to Jarvis. Steve should count himself fortunate that Stark wasn’t also aware of what Jarvis said to Steve.

He placated Stark:

“I didn’t know you were going to Shield, otherwise I would have! I’m very grateful for Jarvis and the armour, thank you. Next time, I’ll ask you, certainly.”

Well, Steve hadn’t known that Stark was visiting Shield, so it wasn’t really a lie, now was it?

Anyhow, it seemed good enough for Stark, who accepted it with a nod.

“That’s good. I’m going to the workshop, just yell if you need me.”

Stark disappeared down the stairs, taking the sheet with him.

The next morning, after a lot of clanking and banging, Stark was finally done. Steve heard him practically run up the stairs, carrying a disk-like object in his hands. Stark entered the kitchen, breathing hard, his cheeks flushed, his eyes twinkling despite the dark bags under them, his hair messy, wearing a sleeveless shirt and loose pants. He had soot on his hands, and small burns on his shirt. His arms were on full display, and Steve couldn’t help lingering on the well-defined curve of his biceps and forearms. The muscles in his chest and arms were bunching and shifting from carrying the object, reminding Steve of exactly how strong Stark was.

He shouldn’t be allowed to look this good while sleep-deprived and half-manic, Steve mused.

“So, I made you a thing! Your adventure with the frying pan got me thinking that you need something to protect you if you ever get into danger again. I can’t let you destroy all our pans either. And what better than a shield? I got some good metal and made this for you. Here!”

He thrust the shield in Steve’s hands, who gripped it in surprise. Stark had made this for him?

It was unexpectedly light for its size, big enough to protect Steve if he crouched behind it. The material was nothing like Steve had felt or seen before. It was, without a doubt, a magical metal, its gleam just this side of unnatural. The strap on the backside fit perfectly, the leather supple yet sturdy. It was a work of art. Steve tilted the shield in the light, its silvery surface reflecting and spreading it.

He looked at Stark, who affected an air of casual interest. As if he wasn’t dying to know what Steve thought of it. _You don’t spend the night making something for someone and then don’t care about their opinion on said thing, Stark._

“This is amazing. Thank you.”

Stark beamed at him, his smile blinding in its joy.

“Don’t mention it! Besides, a captain needs a weapon. Or well, shield.”

With a wink, Stark walked away, leaving Steve with the shield, looking at the reflection of the dancing flames. Stark wasn’t wrong in that he could use something to protect himself. If anything, he would look less ridiculous with a shield than a frying pan. It really was a magnificent thing, but it could be even better. The stark surface of the shield was all sleek lines and cool colours, but Steve wanted to have something of his on this. He was going to paint it.

It took a while to decide what to paint on it, but in the end Steve decided on a simple pattern of alternating bands of deep blue and red. In the middle, he painted a blue circle, leaving space for a star in the centre. While he worked, Jarvis looked and helped, casting a simple spell to protect the paint from wear and tear. When Steve was done, he admired the shield: it was perfect.

* * *

Stark slept through most of the morning, resurfacing a few hours past midday, looking well-rested. He had changed clothes, wearing something sumptuous in deep red, his earrings glinting golden. Steve suddenly felt inadequate, in his white linen shirt and paint-stained pants. He had paint on his hands too, he realised, and flushed.

Stark looked at him, eyes wide, before clearing his throat and looking away. He gestured vaguely with his hands:

“You have some paint on you. I could, if you want…?”

Steve nodded, ears hot, and Stark waved at him. The next moment, the paint was gone, and Stark was sitting at the table, inviting Steve over.

“The audience with the King is soon, I’d like to talk about it with you, if you’re still all right with going for me?”

And how could Steve say no, after Stark had given him a shield? _Wait,_ Steve thought _, did he give me the shield just to manipulate me into agreeing to—maybe it was one of the reasons, but it wasn’t the only one, I know that. Tony is kind, even if he may be a bit manipulative._

“I am, even if I think your idea is quite stupid. What do you want me to tell the King?”

“You’re going to say that you’re one of my cousins. If he asks you why he hasn’t seen you before, just say that your mother was wed into the family not too long ago. My mother’s part of the family is so large that he should buy it. Anyways. You’re going to say that you’ve been spending some time with me, and that you decided to go in my place when you realised, I was going to avoid meeting him, like a coward. And then, you just need to tell bad stuff about me. Tell him that I eat hearts, tell him about my courting, uh, that I’m always blowing things up, that I’m hiding in my castle, anything! You just need to make it believable.”

“So you want me to say that you only think of yourself, that you aren’t good at helping people or rescuing them?”

As he said the words, Steve realised that Stark was essentially asking him to lie through his teeth.

“Exactly! That’s good! You can also mention my suits: I’m good with objects, automatons, armours, but not people.”

Which was a lie as well. Steve just hoped Stark didn’t believe in those things himself.

“Also, I forgot to tell you, but you’ll visit someone else before seeing the king. She’s one of my old friends, we studied magic together, and she’ll tell you how to act properly in front of a king. See it as getting you used to grand people.”

Steve had to visit someone else as well? Stark was lucky that his reason made sense, and that Steve actually was nervous about meeting the King. Maybe this old friend of Stark could tell Steve something about the pact. Or Steve’s curse.

Steve would do it all in one fell swoop: prepare himself for his meeting with the King and come further with his own investigations (that had been on hold for too long).

He agreed, and Stark smiled that beautiful smile again. Steve had to be careful, or he would grant Stark everything just to see that smile.

“Who is this friend?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“She’s one of my best friends. Pepper Potts, you might have heard of her, she’s a powerful witch that specialises in helping those in need. I might have used her name when I created my fake identity in Ma’Hattan. But she doesn’t mind, since we have a different clientele. Anyways. She knows the King, and she’s friendly. She’ll help you.”

She must be a very good friend if Stark had used her name. Steve was curious as to what she thought of Stark. She must see through his masks, and maybe she would give some hints to Steve as to how to do it.

He hoped she would like him.

* * *

The day was coming to an end, and now that Steve didn’t have to make spells and help customers anymore, he thought back to the mysterious spell of the day before. He hadn’t come any further, and Stark would more likely than not find the spell, since he was systematically going through the list of commissions and requests by their customers.

“Stark, there was a weird spell that I tried to understand yesterday, could you please take a look? I haven’t been able to make anything out.”

Stark came over to look and Steve handed him the paper with the first verse of the mysterious spell. Stark frowned, read the spell again, then looked at Steve.

“This isn’t one of the spells I left for you. I don’t know where this came from. Where did you say you found it again?”

Steve told him he’d found it on the pile of spells, which seemed to surprise Stark even further. How had the spell found itself there? And more importantly, was it even a spell?

Jarvis and Stark couldn’t agree on that last part. Jarvis was sure it was a spell, while Stark was adamant that it couldn’t be, because what kind of spell asked the caster to finish it? You either made your own spell or learnt one from someone else, but you never completed someone else’s spell. Jarvis wasn’t so sure about that. There were other kinds of magic, sorcery that Stark didn’t know of, he argued. It had to be a special spell, that had sneaked into the castle somehow.

But how?

“There is no way into this caste other than the door, and I would have noticed if a spell came sailing in after me. Steve, did you see anything? Did you leave the door open for a longer time, maybe?”

Steve hadn’t, he was sure of it. He’d almost only used the Porthaven door while dealing with customers, and the hills door when he wanted some fresh air. He hadn’t seen any paper or spell, either. How had the spell then—

Oh. There could have been one moment, one single instance…

“On one of my first days here, I opened the door to all the different colours.”

He could see the understanding forming behind Stark’s eyes.

“You turned the disk to the black part, didn’t you?”

Steve nodded. He had.

“That must be it. The spell must have slipped by when you had the door opened, magic and time and space is always a little tricky with that one. It’s fine, we’ll just have to go there and try to find where the spell came from. Maybe someone has the other half. But not today.”

They were going into that black void? It was a place? But why had Jarvis told Steve not to go there? And why was Stark so relaxed about it, when Steve had felt such malevolence coming from it?

_God, why must I always poke my nose into places it doesn’t belong?_

“Now that that’s settled, let’s try to find out what this spell or poem could be. You said that you tried to understand it, did you write something down or find some hidden meaning, maybe?”

**“Captain Rogers has tried to follow the instructions of the spell, sir.”**

Had Steve heard that right? Was Jarvis telling on him? He turned to Jarvis, outraged, but his budding anger turned to confusion as the fire demon made a puzzling grimace at him. What did he mean? Had Steve done something dangerous? Was this something Stark should know? And if so, why?

“What do you mean, tried to follow the instructions?”

Steve decided to follow Jarvis’ lead. The fire demon seemed to want to make Steve understand something, and he was curious to know more. Did it have something to do with the pact? Or with Steve’s curse?

“I tried to do what it says on the first line: I tried to catch a falling star.”

“You tried to—what? A falling star? Jarvis?”

**“Unfortunately, it seemed he managed to reach the place where stars fall.”**

“And you didn’t _stop_ him? Jarvis, what were you doing?”

**“I am sorry, sir, I did my best, but I am at a disadvantage in my current form.”**

Stark was agitated, looking between Jarvis and Steve with pursed lips and unhappy lines in his face.

“You didn’t manage to catch one, did you?”

“No. I fell away from the place.”

Steve didn’t mention the young boy.

Stark let out a relieved breath at the news, clutching at his heart in an exaggerated fashion.

“Promise me to never catch a star, okay? I’m serious about this, really. You have to promise me to never, ever catch a star. You don’t know what could happen to you, you have too little magical knowledge, it would end very badly for everyone involved. Trust me, the consequences are not something you want to be dealing with.”

And that, that was suspicious. Because Steve had his inklings about who exactly that boy he saw was; there was no mistaking those eyes, with that colour blue. That deep blue that stared at him right now, that was mirrored on his shield, that had blinked at him in confusion amidst the dying stars.

Steve agreed, thinking furiously.

Steve was almost sure that Stark had caught a falling star, and now he was telling Steve never to do that.

Why?


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Steve looked in apprehension as Stark opened the door after turning the disk to the black part. The tendrils of darkness inched inside, just like the last time, licking at their feet, blending with their shadows. Steve felt a chill run down his spine as Stark turned to him, hair billowing around him and darkness creeping up his legs.

“Don’t worry, this is just a spell to keep intruders away. Just take my hand and step into the black.”

Steve gripped his outstretched hand, barely appreciating the warmth and firmness of Stark’s hand before they crossed the threshold, the door closing behind them.

For a terrifying moment, there was nothing but Stark, Steve, and their hands linked together. They were flying, or falling, or sinking, or floating, stuck in time and place.

Stark pulled Steve along, and the black peeled away, revealing gentle hills covered with waist-high grass and wildflowers under a blue sky. The change of scenery was so sudden that it left Steve slightly nauseous. He had to let go of Stark’s hand, putting his hands on his knees and taking deep breaths.

When he felt better, he looked up and took in the scenery. It smelled heavenly. The flowers were beautiful, pastel pinks and blues and white peeking through the grass or swaying slightly above it in the light breeze. Steve could hear the trill of birds, water gurgling near his feet, leaves rustling behind him. They were on the edge of a grass field, streaked with small water streams, with a forest behind them. In the distance, there were majestic snow-covered mountains. At the edge of the treeline, there was a mansion, its red bricks completely covered in vines. There was a path winding into the forest, leading to what looked like a village, if the puffs of smoke in the distance were any indication. Stark was walking towards the mansion. Steve followed after him, wondering if this was one of Stark’s houses.

There was an air of abandonment about the mansion. The shutters were closed, the gate locked with a rusty chain. Stark’s steps faltered ever so slightly as he walked past the property.

Steve approached the front gate and wasn’t surprised when he saw the gravure in the plaque: STARK MANOR, it read.

Steve wondered what part of Stark’s past was hidden in the mansion.

Stark was already walking into the forest, but he stopped when he saw that Steve wasn’t catching up. He waited until Steve was walking alongside with him to continue. After a short walk, they arrived at the village. It was picturesque, the small houses painted in pale but cosy colours. Stark’s palms were glowing blue, he was most likely searching for the magic source of the spell.

He stopped in front of a cottage; its bright yellow window shutters a charming touch to the white walls. It was idyllic.

Stark knocked politely.

A woman opened after a while. She was stunning: cascading silver hair, eyes the colour of rainy clouds, skin pale, almost pearly. She was maybe a little younger than Steve, her clothes simple yet elegant. She smiled at them curiously.

“Good morning, you must be the wizard Anthony Stark, my name is Joy O’Casta, how can I help you?”

She knew Stark? Steve looked at him. His face was blank for barely a moment, before he pasted on the most charming smile Steve had ever seen.

“Good morning, my dear. A bit of a peculiar question, but are you by any chance in possession of half a song or poem? I am missing half of my paper, you see, I was careless with it the other day.”

From one moment to the next, Stark had completely changed. Where he’d been standing upright and close to Steve, he was now leaning slightly towards the woman, a dazzling smile on his face, his voice a lower drawl than it usually was. He looked every inch the seducer he was reputed to be.

Steve realised this was what a flirting Stark looked like. Inexplicably, it annoyed him. Why did he have to court every pretty face he came across? Why couldn’t he just appreciate people for their intellect of personality, instead of their looks? Was it too much to ask, huh?

“In fact, I do have half a spell. It appeared in my kitchen a few days ago, come in, I’ll show you.”

They followed her inside, Stark complimenting the décor and colours, Steve frowning to himself. Stark had eyes only for Miss O’Casta. Had he forgotten about Natasha already? Maybe it was for the best, because at least then Natasha wouldn’t have to pretend to be interested anymore. But that meant that if Miss O’Casta liked Stark, they would end up together—at least for a short while. And Steve didn’t want to have her in the castle, getting in the way and taking up space. Why, oh why did Stark need to flirt all the time? He was asking her to dinner, Steve noticed, and was glad to hear her reject his offer, albeit politely. It looked like she wasn’t interested after all.

But Stark didn’t give up. If anything, he became even friendlier, accepting her refusal but redoubling his advances.

Why was it taking so long to get the goddamned paper?

As if she could hear his thoughts, Miss O’Casta stopped in front of a wooden drawer and picked up a piece of paper.

“This is it. Do you know what kind of spell it is? I’ve heard you are a capable magician.”

She only knew Stark by reputation, then. Which could be good or bad, depending on which stories she’d heard. Stark must have been thinking along the same lines as Steve, because his body language became more closed as he asked, still smiling, what other things she might have heard about him.

“Quite a lot, some of which I would not care to repeat.”

Stark winced, and Steve winced with him. _Ouch. I bet you didn’t like that, Stark._

“You’ll find that a lot of what they say about me is less than true, miss. If you would like to spend some time with me, I could show you how wrong they are.”

“Maybe some other time. Now, before I give you this paper, what exactly were you trying to do with this spell?”

“Oh, nothing much. I just wanted to see the rest of it. Now, if you could…”

He tried to grab the paper, eyes fixed on it, and Steve understood that there was something about the spell that was more important than it seemed. Stark _really_ wanted to read it. Miss O’Casta, however, kept it out of reach.

“Now that I think of it, you never told me how exactly this half came here. You were trying to cast the spell, weren’t you? Don’t you know that John Donne’s poems are dangerous?”

“I assure you, no one here has tried to cast the spell, I just want to read the rest of it. With my hand on my heart, I promise we’ll be gone as soon as I read it, and you won’t hear from us again.”

Steve couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising at the obvious lie.

Miss O’Casta turned around, still clutching the paper, and proclaimed loudly:

“If you just want to know what’s on the second half, I can read it out loud:

_If thou be'st born to strange sights,_

_Things invisible to see,_

_Ride ten thousand days and nights,_

_Till age snow white hairs on thee,_

_Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,_

_All strange wonders that befell thee,_

_And swear,_

_No where_

_Lives a woman true, and fair._

_If thou find'st one, let—”_

“Thank you, that’s enough.”

Stark had gone pale as a ghost, his hands rising slightly, his chest heaving.

“I remember. _Song_ , by John Donne, of course. I know the rest. Thank you, miss O’Casta, we’ll leave now.”

He grabbed Steve by the arm, his fingers digging into Steve’s skin, clammy to the touch. What had upset him so much? Miss O’Casta was as surprised as Steve, calling out a bewildered goodbye as Stark dragged Steve out of the house.

In less than ten minutes, they were back at the castle, Stark making sure the door was properly locked, before stumbling over to the sofa. His hands were trembling, Steve noticed.

“Are you alright?”

Stark looked at him, his haunted eyes belying his shaky smile.

“I’m just peachy, thank you.”

“Don’t even try, Stark. Something scared you, a lot. What was it?”

Stark sighed, looked at Jarvis meaningfully, to which Jarvis raised his eyebrows. Stark sighed again, deeper this time.

“The curse from the Witch of the Waste has finally caught up with me.”

**“I felt it when it happened, sir. You do not have long.”**

The curse? Was Stark cursed as well? It couldn’t be the same curse as Steve’s, could it?

The marks. The curse had to have something to do with the marks, Steve was sure of it. But what kind of curse was it?

“I hate to say it, but you’re right, J. Ten thousand days, was it? That would bring it to about _Midsommar_ , then.”

“What happens on Midsummer Day?”

“That will be the day I’m ten thousand days old. And by the curse, it will be the day the Witch of the Waste claims me.”

What did he mean with “claiming”? Stark saw the confusion on Steve’s face, because he added:

“And by that, I mean that she’ll kill me, or, well. I’ll be as good as dead.”

Steve gasped. It really was personal between the Witch and Stark. Somehow, Steve had forgotten that things could turn out this badly. After all, when he’d met her, she had threatened to kill him as well. But still…

“Isn’t there any way to break the curse? You still have a few months before Midsummer day.”

A few months wasn’t a long time, but if anyone could break the curse, surely Stark could.

“I can try, Cap, I can try. If I keep away from mermaids, avoid touching mandrake roots, maybe…”  
He continued muttering things under his breath. Steve, on the other hand, was focusing on the mermaid and mandrake part. Those were things that the spell (or poem, as it was) had mentioned. Were they the conditions to making the curse come true?

Stark had already fulfilled the first one, in that case, since he’d caught a falling star. The next instruction in the poem was to “Get with child a mandrake root”. If Stark simply needed to avoid doing that, Steve could help. He could uproot all the mandrakes they had, look for them and avoid them, keep them away from Stark.

It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning of a plan. It shouldn’t be too hard, he reasoned, especially since they knew what to avoid.

Still, if the Witch was so powerful, surely she could guarantee that the curse would happen? Maybe the words were a metaphor for something else. Maybe it wasn’t talking about a mandrake, but something that was symbolically connected to a mandrake, or maybe mandrake was something else for magically versed people. Steve had no idea, really. How would he know what to do? And Stark had said himself that it was difficult to best the Witch.

Stark’s “cowardice” had to be caused by the curse. Both him and Jarvis had known about it, and Stark’s solution had been to avoid the Witch, which explained why he was so reluctant to accept the King’s offer. Now that Steve thought of it, a lot of Stark’s behaviour could be explained by the curse. If the marks were connected to it, then Stark had known for quite some time. And that could be a reason as to why he was so fickle. If Steve knew his days were counted, wouldn’t he, too, want to spend as much as possible of them in good company? Or, at least, with beautiful people?

Well. If he had to be honest: no, he wouldn’t. But he would like to spend it with Natasha. And Stark didn’t seem to have any siblings, or even family. But he had his friends, Jarvis, Potts, and—and others. That he’d never seen or heard about.

Maybe Stark was lonely.

Maybe that was why he let Steve live with him, to have someone else in his house. Steve could understand that feeling. And he wouldn’t judge Stark on what he chose to do with his last months. If he wanted to chase after pretty people, let him do it. It wouldn’t hurt Steve anyways.

 _Are you so sure about that?_ A small voice teased at the back of Steve’s mind. It sounded disturbingly like Natasha’s voice. And what was that supposed to mean? Of course Steve would be alright with whoever Stark wanted to bring home. It wasn’t illegal to have some fun.

 _Even if you’re not part of said fun_ , the voice whispered. Steve frowned.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Stark gesturing at him.

“Cap? We lost you there for a bit. Don’t worry about the curse, all right? I’ll find a way to fix it, and Jarvis will help, it’ll be okay. But that means I won’t have the time to do anything but fight it, and I really need your help about the King. I trust you understand why it is of utmost importance that you convince him I’m not good for the job, yes?”

He was right. If the King sent him on a mission to fight the Witch, she would have more chances to kill him or curse him further. Steve had to help him.

There was also the fact that if Stark were focused on keeping his curse at bay, he would spend less time with Natasha and miss O’Casta, which was always good.

“I understand. When will I meet Potts?”

* * *

It turned out that Steve would meet her the very same day. He couldn’t really say he was surprised; time was not a luxury for Stark anymore.

Tony told Steve to dress in the best clothes he had, which were naturally the clothes that the man himself had given him. Steve ended up picking a light blue shirt and white pants. It was unpretentious and stylish; the blue made the colour of his eyes stand out. When he walked to the kitchen, Stark was waiting for him, looking intently at him.

“Good choice, this colour fits you well. But a little too simple for Witch Potts, maybe. Here, let me just…”

He clicked his tongue, making a twirl with his index, and Steve felt a slight breeze flow around him. When he looked back down, Stark had added golden details to the hem of the shirt and the pants. At the hem of the sleeve, Stark had added a swirling motif with small circles scattered in the design. On a closer look, they weren’t circles, but rather the shield, complete with a little star and stripes. The detail was stunning.

Steve looked up at Tony, who averted his gaze, cheeks rosy. Had he exerted himself by doing the spell?

“Thank you.”

Stark, still not looking at him, dismissed the thanks with a quick wave: “Don’t mention it, I need you to look sharp to make a good impression on Pepper.”

It was time to leave. Stark turned the circle next to the door to the red part, gave Steve a paper with an address and a drawn arrow pointing up, and bid him good luck before ushering him out of the door.

Steve was on the streets of Ma’Hattan, in front of a grand shop window with golden letters proclaiming this was the consulting office of the Great Magician Potts. Around him, expensively dressed people walked, drove, rode to their respective destinations. A tram sped past. Steve looked down at the paper and noticed that the arrow was pointing left. It was a magical arrow. Of course. Steve was probably meant to follow the arrow to the given address.

He did, and after twenty minutes of walking, he stood in front of an old and respectable mansion. On the front gate, he could make out the letters V and P intertwined in each other, and a subtle sign that read: _Witch Potts, the rescue you need_. He stepped inside the property. A man was waiting for him by the front door, gesturing him inside to a tasteful waiting room. Steve didn’t have to wait long before he was called to the witch’s study.

Pepper Potts was every inch the woman Steve had imagined. Pale skin, freckles peppering her face and throat, flamboyant hair put up in a severe hair bun. She was wearing a pristine white dress, the sheer pooling gracefully around her as she sat. She was holding a cup of steaming liquid, the vapor coming from it tinged slightly red. She had sharp blue eyes that latched onto Steve’s as soon as they made eye contact.

She radiated competence and confidence that slightly intimidated Steve, in that he couldn’t dream of being that confident, especially not in his current state. She had power; it was undeniable. The question was what she would do with it, and if she would hold it over Steve, who was laughably out of his depth.

Steve was glad that Stark wasn’t intimidating like her, even for someone with his status, power and wealth. It felt like Stark was still down to earth somehow.

“Steve Rogers, I’ve heard a lot about you. Imagine my surprise when I learned that Tony was sharing his home. You’re a unique man, to be let into Tony’s home while you were complete strangers.”

She knew who he was, because Stark had told her about him? Steve felt something warm in his chest. Stark was telling his friends about Steve. Steve was at least _somewhat_ important to Stark.

“We met by a series of circumstances, and we get along surprisingly well.”

And wasn’t that the truth? There were still unaddressed questions, and secrets on both sides, but the more Steve learned to know Stark, the better they got along. 

“I’m happy for both of you. But tell me, how is he?”

Didn’t Stark give her updates on his well-being? Didn’t she know about the curse? What was safe to tell her?

“Mr. Rogers, I’ll know if you’re lying to me. I assure you; I want nothing more than the best for Tony. I’m worried, because he hasn’t told me anything relating to his health in months now, and I’m afraid he’s hiding something from me.”

The look on her face was earnest, but Steve didn’t know Potts, and he felt Stark’s condition wasn’t his secret to tell.

She sighed, eyes soft and sad.

“You won’t tell me anything, will you?”

“I’m sorry. I think Stark should tell you himself.”

She nodded, her lips thinning.

“I understand, and I admire your loyalty, Mr. Rogers. Let me give you a warning, however, because if what I fear is happening, then I must tell you about it, so that you can try to hinder it. I’ve heard from the King that he’s looking to make Tony court sorcerer, because he wants Tony to confront the Witch of the Waste. But I know what few others know: that Janet and Tony have history. They were inseparable when they were younger, and I was there when they started their relationship. We were all taking magic classes together, and Tony was one of the brightest minds of the University. He was undoubtedly the most brilliant in our year, but Janet was very smart as well. In addition, they both came from wealthy and old families, and they both had a fire demon. It was almost inevitable that they ended up together. Janet wasn’t evil, at that time, you see. She was just a highly intelligent woman. But the danger with fire demons is that they can corrupt one’s heart. Hers was easily swayed into the evils of black magic, and the demon infected Janet, until evil completely took her over. Her heart is black as coal, now, and she goes by the name of the Witch of the Waste. Her decline happened over the course of several years, it was slow and gradual, and when Tony realised what was happening, he ended their relationship before she could corrupt him in turn. But I see now that she has managed to plant an evil seed in Tony, and that the seed has taken root. Please help him kill it before it kills him.”

Steve reeled slightly from the amount of information he’d gotten. The Witch of the Waste had been a close friend of Tony’s? And her fire demon had turned her evil? Was Stark in danger of turning evil as well?

“How can I help him? I don’t even know the contract between Stark and Jarvis.”

He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He suspected Potts had something to do with this.

“To help Tony, you must understand how the Witch of the Waste lost herself. Only then will you be able to prevent Tony from going down the same path. Fire demons only make contracts because humans can give them something they lack, something that gives both human and fire demon great strength and better health. Find out what is it that Tony gave Jarvis, and you’ll have your clue.”

Did she know what Tony had given Jarvis? Steve didn’t know what to think. Why did so many people around him know what he was thinking, what he was looking for? And how would he even find out?

Potts took his hand, then, her eyes glowing.

“You are gifted with magic too, Mr. Rogers. You can give life to your drawings, your aspirations and beliefs can become reality. You can and will find out what the contract is about, and you will help yourself in the process. Rescue will come, but not in the form you expect. I can’t tell you more. Good luck.”

With an arch of her fingers, the door opened, and Steve was compelled to stand up and bid his goodbye. He barely had the time to yell out a thank you before he was ushered out of the mansion. They left him on the sidewalk, his head full of thoughts, his mind trying to make sense of what she had told him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come halfway through!

Men and women were walking around him, paying no mind to the small man standing immobile in front of the gate of one of the kingdom’s most powerful witches.

There was a lot to think about, Steve knew. Miss Potts had given him clues as well as confused him even more. She knew more about Jarvis and Tony than Steve did, that was sure. She’d said something puzzling; that Steve had magic within him. Was that even possible, a first-born gifted with magic? It felt too good to be true: Steve had never had any luck in life, but now Potts said that he would find a way to break his curse.

He wanted to believe her.

He wanted to believe that he would really grow back to his older self, that he would be able to walk and run as he did before, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t base his hopes on something that might never happen.

Besides, he could always get used to his body as it was. He’d spent months in it already, and if he was careful, it wasn’t so bad. There was a distinct advantage, which was that people underestimated him a bit. Or fussed over him more.

He didn’t want to stay that way, but he would be able to live with it.

There was at least some truth behind Potts’ words, since his drawings had animated themselves some time ago now. But the jump from some cosmetic spells to breaking a powerful curse felt too far, still.

There was also the matter of the detail about the contract between a fire demon and a human: the human had to give the fire demon something. But what? What didn’t a fire demon have, that would be tempting enough to willingly bind themselves to a human, with all the loss of freedom it entailed?

Did humans have feelings, or emotions, that fire demons couldn’t have? Was it something physical, or metaphysical? Was it something tangible? Was it an idea? Was it a promise? Was it riches, a physical body, hands? But when and why would Jarvis have any use of hands or a human body? In addition, miss Potts had said that Stark did give Jarvis something of his. But where did Jarvis keep it? Or was the castle some kind of manifestation of what Stark had given Jarvis?

Steve wanted to think it was more plausible that it wasn’t something physical, because he couldn’t really imagine that a fire demon would have any use of money or goods or food. A demon didn’t need earthly things, that was common knowledge.

Which made things simultaneously harder and easier since Steve wouldn’t have to look for some trinket or body part—thank God—but would have to know what to look for before finding it. Would Jarvis tell him if he asked him about it?

Most likely not.

There had to be a loophole Steve could use. Maybe he could play a game of “yes or no” with Jarvis, and hope that if he guessed right about what Tony had given him, Jarvis would say “yes” and that would break the contract.

Steve couldn’t stop from hoping, could he? It surprised even himself, that he tried to be optimistic all the time, when his whole life had proven him wrong.

There was so much to think about, and Steve could spend hours on it, but a flash distracted him. The paper with the address was glowing a bright blue, the words morphing under Steve’s gaze. After a few seconds, the address was simply “the royal castle”, and the arrow was glinting silver, in a new direction.

Stark wanted Steve to see the King at once, then.

Well, there was no time like the present.

It took a while, the streets getting busier and more winding the closer he got to the city centre, where the castle lay in all its stony glory. It was on a height, looking over the city. Steve hadn’t seen it before, but the “thousand-step stairs” were famous across the kingdom. Word was, if you weren’t determined enough to climb the stairs, then you didn’t deserve to see the King. Steve had never liked that rumour, because the most determined man would never be able to climb these stairs if he had no arms and no legs. But the symbolism was strong. When you walked on the stairs, you would be able to see the whole city, and the whole city would see you. You couldn’t just go see the King on a whim. From a military standpoint, having the castle on a height was smart as well.

Steve steeled himself and put his foot on the first step. Immediately, he felt a current sweep through him, leaving his fingers tingling and toes curling. The stairs were imbued with magic, it was oozing off of them, and Steve started to believe there might be an undercurrent of truth to the rumours.

Each step upward was more difficult than the one before, but not physically. No, he felt himself grow strong and tall again as he walked and walked, his heart beating steadier, his breaths deep once more. But his resolve to continue climbing the steps was weakened, constantly attacked by malicious whispers.

_Do you really want to see the King?_

_Do you really think he could help you?_

_Are you fighting the good fight?_

_Are you doing what is right?_

_Will this make a difference?_

_Are you fighting for justice?_

_Are you trying to do good?_

Invariably, Steve answered the voices. _Yes_ , he thought. _Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes._ Each time it was harder, each time he was gripped with doubts, but he had to believe it. He knew that if he said no, he would never reach the top of the stairs.

Determination wasn’t what would get you to the King, it was the strive to do good.

He had to believe in it. He was fighting the good fight, because even if he was going to lie about Stark, it was for a good cause. Stark needed time to break his own curse. Him dying would make the world a worse place to live in.

After what could have been hours, or mere minutes, Steve felt strong as a bull, but incredibly weary too . He hesitated on his last step, the voices telling him to go back, to let it go, that trying was futile, that he didn’t really deserve to see the King, did he?

He put his foot down, then his other foot.

He was on the top of the stairs, the magic gone, his body as frail as it had ever been.

* * *

King Rhodes looked every bit the man he was rumoured to be. He was clad in silver and grey, understated colours that somehow managed to enhance his dark gaze. Everything about him was dark. His clothes, his eyes, his hair, his skin. The only point of light was his crown, rubies and sapphires glinting red and nearly white in the silver crown. There were small rubies in his clothes, too, Steve realised as he got closer. King Rhodes was known to be a strict but just ruler, and his clothes fit well with that image; there was no unnecessary glamour, but the touches of colour made him more human. Without the rubies, he could have been a bronze statue, a machine fit to wage wars and subjugate the kingdom. With them, the King let the human underneath the mantle show.

He looked weary, his eyes holding little patience. There would be no leniency for a liar.

Steve had agreed to Stark’s plan, but now that he was face to the King, he just wanted to bow deep and confess about the plan. He suspected the King’s eyes had that effect on anyone.

“You’re not Tony.”

Was the King an acquaintance of Stark’s? Only his friends called him Tony, the others calling him Stark or Anthony or any of his false identities.

 _Do I count as his friend?_ Came the unbidden thought.

“I’m not, your highness. He sent me in his stead. Steve Rogers, at your service.”

He put a knee to the ground, bowing his head in respect. The King waved him up, one eyebrow raised.

“And what’s your relation to Tony? I’ve never seen you before.”

Steve decided that he didn’t want to lie to the King.

“Stark sent me to convince you not to make him court sorcerer. He said to tell you I’m a cousin of his, but we’re not related.”

Steve startled at the laugh.

“Oh, he thought I would believe that? Everyone could see you’re not his cousin, if anything, you’re his type—but that isn’t important. So he sent you, huh? That jerk. Just you wait Stark, see if I’ll let you get away with that.”

The two last sentences weren’t meant for Steve, but he heard them clearly, nonetheless. It seemed that the King and Stark knew each other well, because the King was broadcasting light-hearted annoyance and not anger.

Steve wondered what the King meant about types. Steve wasn’t anyone’s type, that was for sure. But if the King knew that kind of thing about Stark, they must be very close. Steve felt a surge of jealousy at the thought.

 _This is getting out of hand, Steve. You’re getting jealous of hypothetical relationships now?_ The Natasha voice teased him.

“Well, I’m sure he had very good arguments as to why he should refuse a King’s request. Please, enlighten me.”

Steve explained.

“He wants you to understand that he is utterly inadequate for the position. He has given me several arguments; Stark is infamous for his hedonism; he is self-centred. I live with him, and more often than not, he interrupts me when we talk, he doesn’t let me finish speaking, he has even left in the middle of conversations before. You could argue that he only thinks about himself, that he doesn’t care about other people, but, well, I’m the living example of the contrary, he’s really considerate, did you know that he helps people in need?”

He wasn’t really doing a good job of selling Tony short, was he? He should try harder, lie a little more, say something awful, even if he didn’t mean it.

“He’s good at building things, his automatons, his suits, his spells, but he’s a coward, hiding in his castle. He didn’t even come to see you in person because he’s so scared of the Witch of the Waste, and isn’t that pathetic? That this man can’t even see the King? Because he’s working so hard on trying to find a way to save his own life. He tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, but when I confronted him, he told me, and I’m humbled by his honesty, even if he lied to me before. But I think it’s a defence mechanism for him. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care, let people believe the worst of you, than to try to prove them wrong.”

There was so much that Steve hadn’t understood about Tony before, and saying it out loud let it free, gave life to his thoughts, and showed him how true his words were. He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, they were more for him than the King anyways.

“I thought he ate people’s hearts when I first lived with him. There was no proof, absolutely none, and still I believed the worst of him, even if everything about him pointed to the contrary. He’s full of contradictions. He’ll act as if he’s forgotten you’re there, and the next moment he’ll give you something he made for you. I’ve never had that many gifts before. It’s a bit overwhelming, but if this is how he shows his affection, I’ll gratefully accept it.

He’s kind, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He’s handsome, too, and one of the few things that I don’t like about him isn’t even a personality trait, but the fact that he…”

Steve finished the sentence in his head, suddenly self-conscious about what he was saying.

_…the fact that he flirts shamelessly with anyone but me._

“Thank you for the explanation, Mr. Rogers,” the King said. He was smirking, lips curled up behind his hand.

Steve felt the heat rise up his neck, his cheeks, his ears, and knew that he was beet red. He’d been waxing poetic about Tony instead of talking about his issues. In short, he was doing the exact opposite of what he had come to do. Desperately, he tried to find something that would dissuade the King, and came up with nothing better than:  
“He doesn’t work well with others, he’s always alone in his castle, you really wouldn’t want to have him in your court, and—"

“Clearly he _does_ work well with others, since you seem to be content in working with him.”

Steve couldn’t say anything to that. The King had a point.

“Tony sounds like a man who’s desperate to avoid any conflicts, since he sent you instead of going himself, since he doesn’t want to fight the Witch. You’ve told me he’s good at making spells and automatons, which shows his high intellect. He’s also cunning and smart, since he wanted you to criticize him in front of me. Furthermore, from what you’ve told me, he’s deeply empathetic and takes care of people in need. In short, he’s potent, smart, kind, and shrewd. I think that would make him an ideal fit for the position of court sorcerer, don’t you agree? Even if he clearly shows some reluctance to follow orders, with the right motivation, I think we can make it work. If he wants to avoid conflicts, he’ll have to agree that opposing me isn’t a wise decision. Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers, it was very enlightening.”

Steve gaped as the King didn’t even bother to hide his smile.

“I—I don’t think making Tony the court sorcerer is a good idea. He won’t—”

“I think it’s an excellent idea. Here, let me make this official. We, King Rhodes, hereby declare Wizard Anthony Stark to be the new court sorcerer, effective immediately.”

That was… It was too late to change anything now. King Rhodes had appointed Tony to be the court sorcerer, it was official. The outcome was everything Tony didn’t want it to be, and it was all Steve’s fault, because he couldn’t even lie convincingly. But on the other hand, Steve felt good that he hadn’t lied, because he wanted someone else to know that Tony was better than people believed him to be. Why he wanted to, well, that was something he didn’t want to examine too closely. He felt that he wouldn’t like what he found, wouldn’t like the depth of his feelings.

Wouldn’t like that he was hopelessly falling for Tony, even if he knew that he had no chance with him.

 _Whoops, you thought about it_ , voice-Natasha laughed.

He wasn’t going to think about it.

Was there no way that he could convince the King? Appeal to his clemency? But that meant that Steve would have to explain why Tony had to stay away from the Witch of the Waste, and that was something that only three people in the whole kingdom knew. If miss Potts didn’t, then the King couldn’t be aware either.

Logically, telling the King was Steve’s duty.

But.

It was Tony’s secret to tell.

And it wouldn’t hurt the King not to know. Since Tony had just been appointed court sorcerer, it wasn’t as if the decision could still be swayed by anything Steve did or didn’t say. Which was why Steve kept his mouth shut, bowed again, and let himself be dismissed without complaint.

He walked down the stairs, surprised when he didn’t feel the magic anymore. Did it only affect the ones that walked upwards? Steve decided to try it out. He walked up a few steps, but nothing happened. He supposed the magic knew somehow that he’d already seen the King.

Now that his mind was free of insidious whispers, Steve could enjoy the view of the city beneath him, glimmering in the sunlight. It was beautiful, the copper roofs reflecting the light in fiery orange, deep green, and almost black flashes. The wealth of the town was undeniable, everything glittered and shone.

Steve found he preferred his hometown. The buildings were simpler, the streets narrower, but it had its charm. It was cosier than the capital, more homely.

Steve missed Brooklyne.

He started walking back to Pott’s shop, the address having changed once more, now glowing the familiar blue of Tony’s magic. He took his time, trying to think of a way of telling Tony about the failure of his mission. What could he say to soften the blow? He didn’t have any excuses. What would Tony think? He’d asked Steve specifically to convince the King not to appoint him as the court sorcerer, and Steve had managed to achieve the opposite. The King had seen right through his words, twisting and bending them until they said the contrary of what Steve tried to say. The King had seen that Steve hadn’t meant the bad things about Tony, and Steve had even helped the former by complimenting Tony like a fool.

He couldn’t feel bad about telling the truth about Tony, but he still felt bad that he hadn’t managed to avoid the outcome Tony had been afraid of.

Maybe Tony would understand if Steve told him that the King was too smart for the subterfuge.

He hoped it wouldn’t be too big of a problem for Tony. Steve would help him, anyhow, if Tony needed him to. It was the least he could do.

Steve steeled himself as he started recognising the streets. He was going to be there soon. He turned a corner and stopped abruptly.

Not twenty metres ahead of him, the Witch of the Waste was speaking with a man, both looking at a map in her hands. She was wearing a black dress this time, but her shape, and the aura that flowed around her were unmistakably those of the Witch.

Why was she here? Was it just a coincidence? Did she know that Steve was here? Or was she looking for Tony?

Oh God, what if she was looking for Tony? His house was just a few streets further down, she was almost on his doorstep already.

Steve needed to—

He needed to warn Tony, but he also really, _really_ wanted to punch the Witch in the face.

She had attacked him, for no apparent reason, making his life miserable, changing his very body, and he wanted to make her pay. He wanted to hit her, he wanted to hold her down and make her reverse the curse, he wanted to—

He clenched his fists, his breathing picking up, his muscles bunching and tensing as he felt the anger sweep over him. But just as quick as he’d felt the rage strengthen him, he deflated, as he caught a glimpse of himself in the nearest window. It was ridiculous, really. He shrank down into himself again. She was dangerous, her magic abilities maybe higher than Tony’s, and even if she didn’t have any magic, she would still be able to fight him off, with the body he had. He wasn’t strong enough. He was just a weak little man, who couldn’t even help his friends properly. He gritted his teeth and walked away.


	10. Chapter 10

Unexpectedly, Tony didn’t seem to mind the news about the King making him court sorcerer that much. He frowned when Steve told him but looked oddly pleased that the King had caught out Steve’s lies and turned them into the compliments they really were.

“I should have known not to try anything with Rhodey. Well, at least you tried, Cap. I’ll have to figure something out. And, well, if worse comes to worst, at least I won’t have to be court sorcerer indefinitely.”

That was something else that surprised Steve. Tony was making jokes about his possible demise. And while it was preferable to crying about it, Steve didn’t know what to think of the dark brand of humour that Tony had adopted.

What really distressed Tony, however, was that Steve had seen the Witch of the Waste so close to his home. He’d been very upset at first, wanting to know if the Witch had seen Steve, if they had talked, if there was any chance that she could have known that Steve had been in her vicinity. When Steve had assured that no, she hadn’t seen him, and she hadn’t shown any sign of feeling his aura or her own curse or anything like that, Tony had been mollified somewhat. Until he had realised that the Witch was looking for him and his home, and that she was very close to succeeding. For all they knew, she could be standing outside the shop window right now.

Tony was pacing, raking one hand through his hair, tapping a staccato beat on his chest with the other, talking a mile an hour, trying to figure out what to do.

“—I can’t risk going out the red door anymore, she would sense my magic in a heartbeat—maybe if I moved the—I thought my warding spells would hold up better than—what if she saw—why is she even—”

It was too fast for Steve to make out a coherent sentence, and seeing Tony so agitated only increased Steve’s nervousness. What could they do? What was going to happen now? Should they flee? Ask the King or miss Potts for help? Could they even help?

Tony stopped pacing, looking at the door.

“I need to go, I need—I need some air.”

He left through the black door, Steve practically biting his nails as he realised that he was going to be alone in the castle with the very real possibility that the Witch would come knocking. There was Jarvis, too, but the fire demon looked as distressed as his master, the flames spluttering and changing colour, as if he didn’t know what to feel.

Tony was gone, for God knew how long, and all Steve had was his shield and a scared fire demon to help him. Had Tony decided to flee? Would he even come back? He had to, he wouldn’t leave Steve like that, would he?

How much time before the Witch knocked on the door?

It couldn’t take long, surely, she had been so close to the shop, and—

 _She should have been here already. No, she should have known where Tony was right from the start,_ Steve understood. It wasn’t as if Tony’s name or address were a secret. Which meant that—Tony had been muttering about wards, hadn’t he? He must have hidden his castle from the Witch somehow, and it had worked, until very recently. What could have—the curse. Now that the curse had caught up with him, his own warding spells were weaker against the Witch. She had to know that her curse had touched Tony, and she was trying to kill him now that she had the advantage.

They had to cast new warding spells.

But Tony was gone. Could Steve do anything? Miss Potts had said that he had some magic abilities. Well, his spells might not be very powerful, but something was better than nothing at all.

Steve ran to his room, grabbed sheets of paper, and started painting furiously. He painted for hours, painted strong walls and fortresses and barriers and mountain ranges, anything that could symbolise protection. He painted Tony’s castle, surrounded by guarding knights, protected by Steve’s shield, safe behind a wall of armours like the one in the workshop.

He didn’t feel the usual tiredness in his arms, didn’t feel the soreness of sitting on the wooden stool, his feet flat on the floor, his grip on the pencils and brushes strong and sure, his eyes sharp, his breathing regular and deep enough to keep from trembling. Each time he finished a painting, he put it up on his walls, wherever there was space, be it near the ceiling or just above the floor.

The time flew, and Steve painted.

With every finished piece, a fraction of his stress disappeared, until he felt like himself again. When he looked up, it was completely dark outside, the stars shining faintly. How long had he painted? He hadn’t realised, Jarvis had kept his room illuminated with a small floating flame. He heard the front door slam, and his heart lurched in his chest. Who—

He heard Tony’s voice, and breathed out. He hopped down from the stool, wincing as his knees protested at the rough treatment, and surveyed the room. Every available space on the walls had been covered in his paintings, a good three-quarter of them painted this afternoon, all with the theme of protection. They were moving, his knights patrolling, the sky changing colour above his painted mountains, the shield glimmering.

He hoped it would help.

He hurried downstairs, where Tony was sitting at the table, rubbing at his chest again. Steve put his hands on the backrest on the nearest chair, catching his breath. Tony smelled faintly like flowers, and it hit Steve that he’d gone out through the _black_ door.

More importantly, through the door that led to miss O’Casta.

Had Tony—had he left to go and see O’Casta? He’d been scared of the Witch, and instead of working on some way to keep her away, he’d gone to his latest infatuation?

Steve had to be wrong.

“Tony, did you go visit O’Casta?”

The guilty look the man shot him was answer enough. It didn’t make any sense. Steve knew that Tony could be serious if he wanted to, and everything pointed to him being utterly serious about the curse against his life. So why was he wasting time on courting a woman that wasn’t even interested in him?

Tony couldn’t have decided to give up, could he?

Why had Tony gone to see O’Casta?

He needed to know more before he could form a judgement. He had misjudged Tony too many times to fall to the obvious conclusion. He refused to believe that Tony was just being his infamous libertine self, not just after realising that the Witch of the Waste was so close. He opened his mouth, ready to ask for a reason, when he saw the walls come up behind Tony’s eyes.

“I thought that since I have so little time to live, I could make the best out of it. What, don’t you approve of my ways of dealing with my impending death?”

Tony scoffed at him, and for a moment Steve felt himself grow hot with anger, but it dissipated in an instant when he realised that Tony was lying.

_He’s lying, and he thinks I’m going to fall for the lie. Hasn’t he realised that I know him better than that?_

He was lying, but why? Why did he want Steve to think the worst of him?

Should Steve confront him about the lie, or should he play along?

He hesitated. Tony wasn’t in a mood to be honest and trying to wheedle the truth out of him might make everything worse. But playing along would mean that Tony would think that Steve still thought so little of him that he believed that Tony only cared about sensual pleasures.

Steve deflected, calmly declaring:

“I thought you would want to see Natasha instead.”

He felt a small surge of triumph as Tony lost his composure for a second. He’d clearly not anticipated the answer, that was neither accusing nor angry. Steve knew that Tony didn’t know what to think.

_Good, let him wonder if I believed his lie, or if I know it’s bullshit._

“I—I didn’t need—I mean. I got bored of her.”

But even as he said the words, he didn’t have his usual self-assured expression. He knew that he wasn’t believable, but tried regardless, and Steve knew he had him.

“Oh, that’s nice. Natasha won’t have to pretend, then. Or should I say that you’ll be the only one that’ll have to pretend, now? Pretend that you’re actually interested in courting miss O’Casta, when you’re so worried about the Witch of the Waste that you can’t keep your hand off your chest?”

Tony looked at him with wide eyes, then down at his hand that was splayed across the spot where the marks originated from. He looked back at Steve, face pale, and tried to stammer out an excuse, but he drew in a sharp breath, hunching in on himself. He staggered up, almost tripping over his chair in the process, and pressed his hand over his chest again.

“I—I need to work on my armour.”

His excuse to leave was as obvious to Steve as it was to Jarvis, but Tony didn’t seem to care that he was transparent in his need to leave. For what it was worth, he looked really unwell.

The kitchen was silent as Tony slammed the door of the workshop, so hard that Steve winced.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been this frank. It had obviously shaken Tony up, to hear it in such uncertain terms, but Steve was sick of half-truths and deflections. Tony had a right to keep some things a secret, but he shouldn’t have to lie about it. Steve would accept a simple “It’s none of your business”—he wouldn’t accept it _graciously_ , to be fair, but he knew when not to force the issue—if he had to, but it was an insult to both of them when Tony lied.

Of course, Steve wanted to know why Tony had gone to miss O’Casta, and he would try to get the information out of Tony, but he could back off if Tony absolutely wanted him to. He knew that Tony was kind, and empathetic, and it wasn’t even that bad that he flirted with a lot of people (if Steve told himself that enough times, he might even start to believe it), so why did Tony insist on painting an unflattering picture of himself? To Steve, who had figured out, albeit with a lot of help from Jarvis, that Tony was a good man?

It was as if Tony wanted Steve to think badly of him. Why?

He wouldn’t get that answer anytime soon, he knew. Just like the reason for Tony’s visit to O’Casta. Maybe Tony was trying to figure out a way to fight the curse, and O’Casta could help him, since she had the second half of the poem? Steve was almost sure that there was a connection between O’Casta and the curse. She seemed to know about the author, and the poem, so maybe she had insight that Tony lacked.

That could be a reason. And it would also explain the haste with which Tony had left to see her.

But why was he flirting with her? Couldn’t they have a professional relationship? Or was Tony incapable of spending any time near a good-looking person without flirting?

 _Notice how Tony never flirts with you, Steve,_ a little voice told him. It wasn’t Natasha, this time _. Or, well, he did when you were still handsome and strong. But since that first time? Not even once. I guess that answers your question, doesn’t it? He only flirts with beautiful people, and you’re not one of them._

Steve noticed that the backrest was groaning under his clenched hands. He released it, surprised when he saw that the wood was slightly cracked. Was the chair less sturdy than it looked?

Anyways. Tony wasn’t feeling well, and it had something to do with the marks on his chest.

Steve wondered if they had progressed further since the last time he had seen them. He should probably ask Tony about them. And try to mend bridges after having told him right in his face that he was a liar.

Maybe he could make a cup of coffee for Tony and bring it to him, have an excuse to make sure that he was alright?

He set the kettle of water next to Jarvis, who glared at Steve. Which was fair, since Steve had more or less made Tony run away. But if he managed to convince Jarvis that it was for Tony, that it would help the wizard to drink a warm brew—

The front door rattled, a terrible scraping sound emanating from the other side, and before Steve could move, it slammed open, bouncing against the wall. A grey blur rushed in before Jarvis could blow the door closed again.

For a moment, Steve didn’t know what he was looking at.

The next, he broke out into hysterical laughing.

It was the damn dog.

It _had_ to be the dog.

It made sense, didn’t it? Hadn’t Steve thought about it himself, that everything he touched turned out to be trouble? It had been true with the scarecrow, and it was true with the dog. What did it want? How had it even found its way in? It had come from the hills, Steve saw.

Steve dried his tears and got himself in control again.

He could laugh—or more likely, cry—more after this was dealt with.

The dog was panting, chest expanding as if it had made a great effort. It wasn’t growling, just trembling slightly in front of the fireplace. Jarvis was silent, most probably trying to understand why the dog had entered the castle. Was it looking for Tony? Did the dog hate him that much? Or had Lord Fury sent it? There wasn’t anything on it that suggested at a message.

Steve crouched, trying to get to eye-level with the animal, but as he dropped down, the dog grew, until it was standing on its hind legs. The fur fell away, the dog’s shape morphing and twisting on itself until it solidified into a man. A naked, shivering man.

He had wild eyes, Steve noticed. Wild and as grey as his fur had been. His hair was shaggy, falling to his shoulders, a dirty brown. His arm, though, was what really caught Steve’s attention. It was shimmering faintly, silver strands of magic running up and down the skin. Steve had seen that arm before. This man was the same one that had come with the Witch of the Waste when she cursed Steve. Was he here on the Witch’s orders? Should Steve throw him out? But he’d been at Shield, with Lord Fury. Was he a prisoner there? Or was he another victim of the Witch?

He shivered violently, deep hacking coughs shaking his frame, and looked at Steve. He rasped out:

“I’m—I heard you wanted to—to meet me. I’m—hrrrk—Natasha’s lover. Don’t tell Sta—”

He coughed again, doubling over in pain, and fell to his knees. He looked up, eyes full of fear, as his face elongated, his teeth grew, his bones shifted, and snow-white fur sprouted from his skin. As fast as he had turned into a man, he was back into a dog, this time a huge white wolfdog. He whined, scratched his snout, and lay down in front of the fire, obviously exhausted.

Steve looked at Jarvis, who was as surprised as him.

Steve had almost been right when he had joked that the dog would be a werewolf.

Had the dog—man? Weredog?—attacked Tony at Shield because he was courting Natasha? Or was it because he worked for the Witch?

Steve needed to talk to him, ask his name, know where he stood. He wouldn’t let someone that was linked to the Witch court Natasha. Who knew what she had planned? But if the weredog had attacked Tony out of jealousy or protectiveness, well, that would be better. And if Natasha loved him too, there was a bigger chance that he was one of the Witch’s victims rather than an accomplice.

He _had_ looked at Steve miserably, that night in the paint supply shop.

Steve would give him the benefit of the doubt for now, but as soon as he was awake once more, Steve would ask him about everything. How had he found himself stuck in the bushes the day after visiting Steve? Why was he at Shield? Why had he come all the way to the castle? Why was he cursed? How could Steve help him remove the curse? What did he know about the Witch of the Waste? Why had he been with her in the first place? Was he still working with or for her?

Jarvis, after studying the now sleeping dog, resumed his quiet burning.

**“It seems this castle attracts humans cursed by the Witch. I trust he will tell us more when he turns back to a human.”**

These words were as good as an endorsement from Jarvis, so Steve decided that the deluge of questions could wait for later. Jarvis was right, three of the four occupants of the castle had been cursed by the Witch. Funny coincidence, that.

As for the weredog’s request not to tell Tony, Steve wasn’t so sure that it was a good idea. Indeed, a giant white dog in the middle of the kitchen wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. Steve would go down and give Tony his coffee, make sure that he was alright, and then he would tell him about their new guest.

He grabbed the water kettle, satisfied that Jarvis had warmed it up, and put the coffee to brew. It took a while, but as soon as the smell indicated that the coffee was ready, Steve took the cup and walked down the stairs.

Tony was hunched over one of his armours, humming to himself as blue and white sparks flew everywhere. He had his back to Steve, and Steve stopped in the doorframe, looking at him. He had taken off his shirt, obviously to avoid getting it dirty, since he hadn’t been wearing workshop proof clothes when he’d fled down there. Steve could appreciate the bunching and stretching of the muscles on his back, his skin glistening with sweat.

God, he was _so_ much stronger than he looked, now that Steve could appreciate his muscles without them being covered in green slime. He had to be almost on level with pre-curse Steve. For some reason, that made Steve feel a little hot under the collar. Imagine what two strong, healthy bodies could do in the height of—

Tony turned around, reaching for a piece of metal, and any inappropriate thoughts of Steve’s died a pitiful death.

The marks covered his whole chest, one tendril reaching as far down as the hollow of Tony’s belly button. Another was circling his ribs, yet another was creeping up the base of his throat. They were even darker, the ones nearest the centre of his chest almost black.

The marks were definitely growing. Would they grow indefinitely? Would they cover Tony’s whole body? What would happen then?

Tony choked on his voice, eyes too wide. He wouldn’t be able to explain his marks away, now that Steve had seen.

“I. I brought you coffee.”

Steve held out the cup, unsure of what to do now that it was evident that something was seriously wrong with the marks. Steve had suspected, of course, but it was another thing to see it confirmed.

“Thank you.”

Tony made no move to take the cup, still frozen with one hand on the piece of metal and another on the armour. Steve shuffled forward, put the cup down on a worktable, and leaned against it.

“Tony. What are these marks?”

Tony looked away, sighing deeply as he sat down on a bench. He scratched at his marks and offered Steve a half-smile.

“If I said I had decided to experiment more with the tattoo, would you believe—”

“You know I wouldn’t. These are from the curse, aren’t they?”

 _Come on, Tony,_ tell _me._

Tony chuckled humourlessly.

“They are. I knew that she had cursed me when they first started to appear, years ago. I thought I had more time, but then the curse caught up with me, and now they’re growing faster. You’ve seen it yourself, they’re more widespread than a few weeks ago. They—they drain my energy, slowly but surely, and one day they’ll have taken everything I have, and I’ll be dead.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you for your comments, I love every single one of them, but life's been hectic lately, so I haven't had the time to sit down and answer to them yet. I promise I will!

It was as bad as Steve had feared. God, Tony had known that he was doomed to die for _years_. Years, and he hadn’t told anyone, had hid the marks behind a supposedly cosmetic spell, until Steve had barged in and exposed him inadvertently while cleaning his house. Had he been planning on never telling Jarvis about it? Not miss Potts, not King Rhodes, no one?

Would he have died alone?

It was too sad to consider.

“That’s horrible, Tony, but thank you for telling me. Do you—Is there any way of slowing down the progress? Can I help?”

Tony pinched his lips.

“The only way to stop them from consuming me is to break the curse. And to break the curse, I have to fight the Witch. But I don’t know if I can do it, so the only option I have left is to try to delay the curse as much as possible, at least until Midsummer Day. If I manage to avoid fulfilling the three remaining conditions, the curse won’t progress.”  
“Three conditions?”

“The mermaids, the mandrake, and the wind that would make me honest. I’m a bit unsure about what exactly must happen, but I think that if something close to what is written in the poem happens, the condition will be fulfilled. I’ve already caught a star, so the next one in line is the mermaids. I hope that I need to teach someone to hear the mermaids singing to fulfil the condition, but I think that if I just hear mermaids at all it’ll count, because hearing mermaids is already very rare.”

Tony had come to the same conclusion as Steve, then.

“If you stay away from the sea, there is no risk that you’d meet a mermaid. Aren’t they a reclusive species? I doubt you’ll meet any.”

“I sure hope so.”

* * *

After Steve had gotten some sleep, he went back to the kitchen to see the dog still sleeping, Tony looking somewhat better than the day before. He was less pale, but Steve could see the mark on the base of his throat where Tony’s collar was open. It was a harsh reminder that they were on a finite timeline.

Tony greeted Steve tiredly, not mentioning the dog. Had he talked to Jarvis about the dog? Or was he ignoring the problem in favour of drinking his coffee? Steve wasn’t awake enough to start guessing games. He accepted the cup of coffee Tony offered him, fried three eggs, gave one to Jarvis, and the other to Tony. They ate in silence, Tony clearly brooding, Steve trying to formulate a plan for the day.

“We need to move.”

Steve looked up. Move, how? Where? What did Tony mean?

**“Moving would be risky, sir. You are aware of the dangers.”**

Tony had been talking to Jarvis.

“We haven’t got a choice, J. She’ll find us today, for sure, and then we’ll have to do it regardless. It’s moving or dying, and I know what I’m choosing.”

Tony was clenching his jaw, staring resolutely at Jarvis, who flared up briefly before sighing explosively.

**“As you wish. We will need new locations, then.”**

“Where are we moving?”

Tony looked at Steve as if he’d forgotten he was in the room with them.

“We’re moving the castle, changing our addresses so that the Witch won’t find us,” Tony explained briskly, then paused as Steve furrowed his brow.

“I can change where the door leads to. We’ll keep the hills, since that is the castle’s physical location, but I’ll change where the red and blue doors lead to. I might change the black one, but I think I’ll keep it.”

Steve wanted to believe that it was because Tony’s mansion was in that place, but he knew it was more likely because miss O’Casta was there, and Tony didn’t want to cut the connection to her. It still rankled, but now that Steve was sure that Tony wasn’t really courting her, it didn’t rankle as much anymore.

“Where will we move?”

Tony eyed Steve, fingers tapping absentmindedly on his chest.

“I know where I want the blue door to lead to, but the red one… What about moving to Brooklyne? This is where you’re from, right, Cap?”

Moving to Brooklyne? That would be—it would be amazing.

He would be able to see his home, would be able to meet the people he knew, would be able to go to the bakery. It would solve the problem of Steve missing his hometown.

 _Imagine, you’d be able to see Tony all the time, you could maybe even live as neighbours,_ Natasha-voice told him.

“I would love to.”

Tony smiled, pleased, and stood up.

“I’m going to go scouting for someplace to move the castle to. Be careful, don’t open the door to anyone, alright?”

Tony left after Steve had assured him that he wouldn’t let anyone in, and that he would have his shield ready.

Steve turned to Jarvis then, ignoring the sleeping dog.

“Jarvis, I meant to ask you. What did Tony give you in exchange for the contract?”

Jarvis pulsed, but kept quiet.

“You won’t tell me, but can you give me a hint?”

**“All I can say is that he has already told you what he is missing. Listen intently for any hints he might give you.”**

That was a non-answer if Steve had ever heard one. So Tony had already hinted at something that he was missing? What could it be? A partner? Love? Something else?

Tony frequently complained about the lack of coffee, but that couldn’t be it.

Did it have something to do with the curse? What was the last condition again? That he would have to become honest? Was that something Tony was missing, honesty? They weren’t physical things, which almost corroborated Steve’s earlier theory. But how would he know which thing was the right one? Should he try to find a hidden meaning behind Tony’s words? Listen to every word he said, notice everything that could be meant in more ways than one?

* * *

Steve was in the middle of reading a book about mermaids and their natural habitat when the Porthaven door opened with a bang. He jumped up, clutching his shield in his hand, but it was only Tony. Tony, who was dishevelled, out of breath, and paler than Steve had ever seen him.

“She found me! Jarvis, the armour, be ready, I need to—”

A flash outside of the door illuminated the whole room, waking the dog, reflecting in Tony’s wide eyes.

“Shit!”

Tony ran out again, his magic flaring blue around him, carrying him away from the flash. Not a second later, a black and yellow blur flew past the open door, in hot pursuit.

The Witch had found Tony, and they were fighting.

Steve gripped his shield tighter, staring at Jarvis, body tense and mind running. Tony had fled towards the harbour, Steve realised. 

Tony would be near the sea. Where mermaids lived. Of course, Steve didn’t know if there were mermaids in the harbour, but honestly, he wasn’t going to take the chance. He had to warn Tony somehow, make him lure the Witch away from the water.

Which meant that Steve would need to run down to the fight. And avoid himself from getting killed by a stray spell. While he was weak and short-breathed. With only a shield as protection.

He’d had worse odds. He thought.

He barely took the time to ensure that the weredog wouldn’t escape before he rushed out through the door, paying no heed to Jarvis’ protests.

Loud bangs were coming from the harbour, lights flashing in the sky. Steve ran as fast as he could, pushed his legs until they were aching with every step, and kept running. He was the only one running to the fight and not from it.

When he arrived at the harbour, he hid himself between crates, and observed.

Tony and the Witch were both high in the air above the water, Tony surrounded by blue magic and the Witch by yellow magic. They were shooting beams at each other, loud bangs echoing in the air, the waves underneath them tall and wild. They flew around each other, dodging and shooting, yelling incantations and curses in strange tongues.

They were completely focused on each other, paying no mind to the frightened guards on the docks that were ordering them to cease their fight immediately and surrender.

The guards were obviously no match for the magic users, but Steve had to commend their bravery, even if it was foolish.

Steve couldn’t see their expressions, but he knew that the magic users could not spare a moment of distraction, or the other would hit them. Steve couldn’t risk calling for Tony. Most likely, he wouldn’t even hear him, but in the off chance that he would, it could fatally distract him.

There wasn’t any way that Steve could move the fight, he realised. Not without bodily throwing himself out there and dragging them to the land again. Which was a ridiculous notion. Because Steve wasn’t strong enough to drag two adults anywhere. If he’d been his old self, however…

 _Steve, you realise that even with your old body it would be an exceptionally stupid idea, right?_ Natasha-voice chimed in. She might have had a point.

He could only watch as they pursued their deadly dance in the air, one of them occasionally flying right into the other’s path, making the air vibrate with the amount of magic that was being discharged.

They were even, Steve realised after a few minutes. None of them was gaining the upper hand. How long would this fight go on? Should he try to intervene anyways? Maybe he could…maybe he could throw his shield at them. He looked at it, tried to imagine himself throwing it, and ended up with a picture of his foot crushed under the shield.

Maybe he would wait with throwing anything.

Above the water, dark clouds were forming, hinting at a storm. The sky darkened, a distant rumble making itself heard. Both Tony and the Witch looked up at that, and suddenly their fight changed. The Witch seemed to disappear from an instant to the next, but Tony was still shooting blue energy into the seemingly empty air.

Was she invisible?

Tony twisted on himself, and where he’d been a moment prior, a concentrated flash of yellow ripped through the air. It was smaller, more precise than the Witch’s previous attacks, as if she’d managed to focus her magic into a narrower beam.

It took Steve a while to understand that the Witch had shrunk herself and was using her greater agility and speed to attack Tony more viciously. It was working, too, she had gotten in a few hits, each time punctuated with a green flash of light.

Tony shot off into the building clouds, leaving a stream of light behind him. A smaller stream of yellow light followed him up into the darkness.

From where he was, Steve was completely blind to what was happening overhead. Rumbles and cracks emanated from the clouds, accompanied with flashes of blue and yellow, but no green, at least.

A dark form fell from the sky, breaking the clouds and stopping its descent only metres from the water surface. It rose up again, meeting a yellow blur in a turquoise flash.

It was Tony! He’d transformed himself into a raven and was now matching the Witch blow to blow. Steve watched with trepidation as the turquoise flares outnumbered the green ones. A particularly big one ended with a howl of rage, and Tony flew away as the Witch grew to her original size again, clutching her arm. Steve wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw blood. The Witch didn’t stop at her own size, however, having seemingly decided that if shrinking wasn’t working, she’d grow tall instead. She grew and grew and grew until she towered tall as a tree, her hands sharpening and straightening into pointed blades, her dress rippling in yellow and black around her. She had wings, Steve saw, insect wings that kept her flying. All in all, she reminded Steve of a giant, deadly wasp.

Her stingers, because that was what her hands had turned into, were the size of Tony’s body. She attacked him viciously, not giving him the time to grow bigger. He was struggling, Steve could see, losing feathers to the stingers, doing all he could just to stay out of the Witch’s reach.

A whining sound behind Steve made him look back. It was one of the armours, speeding towards the fight. It raised its hands, a blue beam shooting out of them and hitting the Witch in her bad arm, giving Tony the time to fly to the armour and change back to a human just as it encompassed him.

Tony was even more graceful in the armour than he’d been out of it, looping and swooping around the Witch, who had lost the advantage, since he was significantly faster, and could hit her from afar. She screamed angrily, her face distorted in the blue and yellow light, and thrust her stingers into the clouds, a loud crackling announcing that she had channelled electricity into them. She hit Tony, and sparks flew as electricity arched through him.

Steve’s heart stopped.

The armour fell, its light dim, but as the Witch dived after it, her stingers ready to shock and pierce through the armour, the blue circle in its chest lit up, and a massive beam of blue shot up to meet the yellow crackling magic.

The air exploded.

Steve was thrown backwards, hitting his head hard, his ears ringing from the deep thundering. When he got back up again, there was no trace of the Witch nor Tony in the skies.

Had they—

They couldn’t have killed each other, could they?

They were just hiding; they would come back any moment now. Steve stared intently into the black clouds, hoping to see a shimmer of blue, or even yellow, at this point. Where were they?

The guards had been knocked over as well, and several of the ships lying in the harbour had been visibly damaged by the blast. The waves had calmed down, but there was rock on the docks that hadn’t been there before. Had it been ripped out of the harbour? How deep underwater had the blast reached?

The rock was—moving, for lack of a better word. There was inhuman shrieking emanating from inside of it, or was it beside it? What was happening?

Steve’s gut sank like a stone when he saw that the creatures that were screaming and crawling around the rock were mermaids.

The second condition of the curse had been fulfilled.

Steve looked desperately for Tony, for his armour, anything. Carefully, he inched away from the protection of the crates, towards the water, his shield held high before him. He startled badly when something touched his shoulder, whirling around and thrusting his shield into whatever enemy had taken him by surprise.

There was no one there.

Someone whispered in his ear:

“It’s me, Tony. I’m on your shoulder.”

And true enough, there was an injured raven perched on his shoulder, its feathers dull and matted with blood and grime. Tony didn’t look good at all, but at least he was alive.

But what about the Witch? Was she around as well?

“Tony? Thank God! Do I need to fight, where is she?”

“She’s gone. For now. Let’s just…let’s head home, Cap.”

Tony hopped down from his shoulders, spreading his wings and flying unsteadily to the ground, where he collapsed. Steve rushed forward as he transformed back into his human form, unconscious.

Steve hurriedly took a cloth that had been left by a fleeing person and wrapped Tony in it. There was still no sign of the armour, it had to have been destroyed. Steve would thus need to carry Tony all the way home, but how would he do that? It had been hard enough to drag him from the kitchen to the bathroom, and now he’d have to walk uphill with a shield and an unconscious man to carry?

Maybe someone could help him?

 _Yeah, sure, Steve,_ he thought. _Because there are so many people around to help you._

He would have to do it himself, somehow.

_Come on, you used to be able to carry crates that were much heavier than Tony, you’ve got this!_

He put one of Tony’s arms around his shoulder, put the shield on his free hand, and stood up. He panted harshly, getting used to the weight. He could do this.

He could do this.

Step by step, he walked towards the shop. Step by step, he dragged Tony with him, until he got used to the weight, until his muscles weren’t screaming with exertion, until he got his breathing under control again. He didn’t know where the additional energy had come from, but suddenly he knew that he was strong enough to properly carry Tony. He hoisted him up in his arms, one arm under Tony’s shoulders and the other under his knees. He put the shield on top of Tony’s chest, underneath one of his limp arms.

His newfound energy lasted until he got back to the shop. He just managed to push the door shut behind him before he lost his strength and crashed to the ground with Tony still in his arms. His heart was beating out of his chest, it felt like, and he was sweating profusely, his arms trembling from the prolonged effort. It took a while before he extricated himself from under Tony and stood up.

He was trying to convince himself to drag Tony to the couch when the man in question awoke with a groan.

The dog was sitting on the side, looking intently, ears raised and eyes sharp. Jarvis, on the other hand, was glowing feebly, pulsing weakly, his flame the smallest Steve had ever seen. What had happened to him? He had enough logs to consume, so food wasn’t the issue. He looked _exhausted_.

Tony struggled up into a sitting position, grabbing his chest with one hand, wiping his brow with the other.

The marks had grown again. The highest one had reached his Adam’s apple, moving in time with Tony’s swallowing. The lowest ones disappeared under the line of the cloth that had pooled around Tony’s hips.

There was no mistaking it, hearing the mermaids screaming had been enough to fulfil the condition.

“Jarv—hey, Jarvis, are you— _hurrrk_ —are you okay?” Tony rasped out. He really shouldn’t be talking.

**“Do not—do not engage with the Witch again, sir. Your heart will not be able to take it. Please, Captain, help him, he needs help, he—”**

Steve had never seen Jarvis this agitated before. Nor that weakened. What was happening? Had the armour’s destruction taken a toll on Jarvis? Or had Jarvis helped Tony with his magic as well?

“I will, okay, I will. Please concentrate on burning while I help Tony,” Steve hurriedly answered. Jarvis seemed to accept the answer and closed his eyes, turning dormant, glowing so faintly Steve would have thought the fire had died down to embers. But when he saw that Jarvis was burning through the logs faster than he used to, he realised that he was recuperating. Good. Now to take care of Tony.

He helped Tony up, and they staggered together to the couch, where Tony lay down excruciatingly slowly. He was breathing shallowly, his body shivering in cold sweat, his left arm covered in blood, a cut bleeding sluggishly on his temple. The marks were pulsing malevolently on his chest. Steve wished he knew how to stop them from getting bigger.

He busied himself with cleaning Tony up, then bandaging his arm and his temple, all the while pretending not to hear Tony’s quiet whimpers every time he brushed his chest.

When he was done, he raised the cloth cautiously, taking care to avoid exposing too much, and made sure that there weren’t any wounds left untreated on his legs. Thankfully, there were none. He looked up again. Tony was watching him, slit-eyed, breath whistling out of him. he nodded at Steve’s asking look and turned over, revealing another cut on his upper back, which Steve cleaned and bandaged too.

It would scar if Tony didn’t have a spell to make it heal faster. Just another scar to go with the ones he already had. Steve traced one of them with his fingers, wondering where it came from. He jerked back when Tony shivered under him.

When they were face to face again, Tony thanked him. Steve asked him how the Witch had found him.

“It was a stupid coincidence. I was in Brooklyne, trying to find an empty building for us to move into, and I got distracted when I saw your painting supply shop. I thought, hey, you know what, that could work, and then I—”

Steve couldn’t let Tony say something like that and not interrupt.

“Were you trying to see if we could move into the painting shop? _My_ painting shop?”

“I—well—I mean. Yeah? Why not? You seemed glad to move back to Brooklyne, so why not take the opportunity to move into your shop? Then everything would be familiar to you, and we could combine my magic skills with your painting skills to make an even better shop.”

Did he really mean it? Did he really want to do that, build up a partnership with Steve?

Wait, did he think that Steve was skilled in painting?

“What?” Came the eloquent answer.

“I mean. You’re obviously great at painting, look at the shield, and I’ve seen some of your drawings lying around, so maybe you could sell some of your artworks next to the supplies, and I could, I don’t know, sell cheap charms on the side, have a little business running?”

It sounded almost too good to be true. Tony was essentially promising Steve that they would work together for the foreseeable future, they could even live together—not like _that_ —and Steve _really_ liked that idea.

He knew that once his curse was lifted, he would have to go back to Brooklyne. But if Tony followed him there, it’d be amazing. He was still staring at Tony in wonderment when the latter started to speak again, eyes shuttering.

“Or not, I mean, you don’t have to, I can find someplace else to—”

“No. It’s perfect. It’s _perfect_ , Tony. You can sell magic and I can sell paintings and supplies and we’ll find a way to combine the two into something even better.”

The relieved smile on Tony’s face warmed Steve to his core. He couldn’t believe they were really doing this. He felt giddy, ready to take on the world with Tony at his side.

“We can sell flowers, too, they’ll smell good and it’ll freshen up the shop.”

As soon as Steve said it, he knew he wanted it, to have colourful flowers in the shop, to have the lovely scents permeate the space.

Tony smiled at him, wide and easy, and laughed.

“Amazing! We’ll do that. I’ve always loved flowers.”

They gazed at each other, both smiling softly.

That was the moment Jarvis chose to wake up, crackling loudly in the peaceful moment, and effectively killing the mood.

**“Sir, how are you?”**

“I’m good, Jarvis, just didn’t think that her fire demon would be quite so powerful. I see you’re feeling better too. Now, what was I talking about…”

Oh, right, the Witch! Steve had completely forgotten about her.

“You were walking around in Brooklyne, thinking about my shop, and…” he prompted.

“Right. Well, I was so focused on that that I didn’t take the usual precautions when I flew back to Porthaven, and I actually walked right into the Witch.”

Steve’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline.

“Don’t look at me like that. It happens, okay? Anyways, long story short, she recognised me and immediately attacked me. You know the rest.”

“I’ll ignore the fact that you literally walked into the Witch of the Waste, your _mortal enemy_ , and I’ll focus on the more urgent matters,” Steve reasonably said, “as in what we’re going to do now that the Witch has found two of your addresses.”

Tony scratched at his chest, eyes serious.

“We need to move as soon as possible. It’ll be taxing, but we don’t have a choice. Janet’s even stronger than I thought she’d be. I’ve never seen her grow like that before. I wish I could say that I won our fight, but honestly, I don’t know. I got some hits in, but she did too. She’ll be recovering in her own castle for now, which should give us time to relocate. I hope.”

Those weren’t very optimistic words, Steve couldn’t help but notice.

Tony scratched at the marks again, wincing as they pulsed angrily.

“I guess I didn’t imagine the angry mermaid screaming? And that it’s the reason why the marks have grown so fast in so little time?”

Jarvis flared up at the words, eyes angry, and Steve nodded.

Two out of four conditions had been met, and Tony was one step closer to death.


	12. Chapter 12

“Well, there’s not much I can do about that, I guess. Now to avoid any plants that could look like mandrakes.”

He was right. It had happened, they couldn’t change it, they could just move forward and hope.

“By the way, I wanted to ask you before I left, but I forgot. What’s that dog doing here?”

Steve tensed. He’d forgotten about the weredog as well, he was being so quiet. A quick glance behind him confirmed that he hadn’t moved, still listening intently to their conversation. Could he understand them in dog form?

“He came in yesterday, he’s actually a human, but he has a curse on him.”

“I can see that; he reeks of Janet’s magic. But why is he _here_?”

Oh. Tony knew the dog wasn’t really a dog, and that it was the Witch that had cursed him. Which almost certainly meant that the man wasn’t working for her, or at least not willingly. Steve wished he could talk to Natasha and ask her about him. She had to know exactly who he was, especially since she was literally training to hone her intelligence skills. She would have the answers, Steve knew.

He missed her.

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me much before he turned back into a dog.”

The weredog stood up, sensing that they were talking about him, wary in his approach. Maybe Tony could help him, could lift his curse? Or find a way to make him turn back into a human, even just temporarily? There were still many questions left unanswered about the man.

“Seems like he can’t tell us in this form. Can you turn into a human?”

Tony crouched down, carefully holding his hand out for the weredog to sniff. Which happened without problem. Was the man’s animosity for Tony gone? When had that happened?

**“Sirs, if may. While speaking with the cursed man is of no doubt of great interest, may I remind you that we urgently need to move?”**

Both Tony and the weredog flinched at Jarvis’ reminder.

“You’re right. We can continue this conversation later, after we’ve moved. Alright. Steve, do exactly as I say.”

They were going to move _now_? While Tony was still injured? While Jarvis had been nothing more than embers just an hour ago? It felt as if Tony was overestimating his own strength.

“Tony, Jarvis, you’re barely recovered from the fight, shouldn’t we wait a little before—”

“We’re fine, Cap, good enough to do this. Jarvis is right, we need to do it now. We’ll rest more later. Besides, you taking care of me has done wonders for helping me recover already,” Tony answered with a wink. Well. If he said so. Tony surely seemed in better spirits, the news about his marks notwithstanding.

“If you say so.”

Tony hurriedly went to his room to change into a white tunic and fitted black pants. When he came back, he smiled at Steve and said:   
“All right, help me move the chair and the couch to the side, we need space in front of the fireplace.”

They left a wide-open spot on the floor, Tony directing Steve to take white chalks and draw a wide circle on the floor, four other smaller circles surrounding it symmetrically. He drew an intricate pattern into one of the smaller circles, a five-pointed star in the centre, various geometrical figures surrounding it and blending with it. In very specific places, he added symbols that lit up blue as soon as he marked down the last one. He instructed Steve to copy the drawing into the other circles while he worked on the middle one.

Tony’s design for the central circle was even more complicated, concentric circles filled with symbols and shapes that seemed random but were anything but. When they were done, the five circles lit up with a strong white light.

Tony then asked Steve to sit on the chair and grab on to it. Steve did as told, suddenly excited to see what Tony was going to do. Tony walked over to the fireplace, taking a silver shovel into his hand, and gently pushed it underneath Jarvis. The fire demon was flickering wildly, his usually bright red flames shifting to orange, white and finally a pale blue glow as he was lifted from the fireplace. He had two small claws gripping the edges of the shovel, almost melting it in his distress.

Was it really this dangerous to move Jarvis?

Tony walked very carefully into the centre of the biggest circle. He put his feet together, standing tall with one arm outstretched sideways and the other holding Jarvis in front of him. The circles were pulsing blue now, the light having dimmed as Tony had walked into the circle, but steadily growing stronger as Tony chanted under his breath. Tony’s hair spread out, his tunic billowing. The pulsing light grew stronger, and Jarvis swayed where he was, burning brighter and brighter until he let out a hiss and _exploded_ into a million lights.

When Steve could see again after the blinding flare, he watched in awe as Jarvis writhed, now as tall as Tony, flames licking the walls, burning brightly in all the colours of the rainbow, his maw wide open and laughing, his eyes slanted and bright white.

This was what Jarvis really looked like, in all his glory. A blazing fire, bright as a star, illuminating the whole kitchen with millions of colourful lights. It was breath-taking.

Tony was still chanting, eyes closed in concentration, sweat beading down his face. His hair was billowing, his feet a decimetre from the floor. Around him, the castle started to morph, walls changing shape and colour, bangs and clangs indicating that it was happening everywhere in the castle. Pans and pots were changing places, the very chair Steve was sitting on changing form and moving to another corner of the room. The whole interior was changing, until Steve realised that it was taking on the appearance of the places they were going to move to. Steve thought he recognised one of his own pots at the kitchen window.

When the castle stopped moving and rumbling, Jarvis died down to his original size, his glow turning a dark marine blue. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. Tony looked exhausted as well, the cut on his temple opened again. As he staggered past Steve to put Jarvis in the fireplace again, he noticed that there was a lump of dark matter inside of Jarvis. What was it? Was it his physical form? His body? His heart? Was this why Jarvis was so afraid to leave the fireplace, because he had a vulnerable centre? Could this thing be what Tony had given Jarvis?

He had to ask Jarvis about it when he woke up again. Speaking of, he should go to bed too. Tony was already stumbling up the stairs, muttering a good night.

There wouldn’t be any more talking this night, Steve knew.

* * *

When he went downstairs the next morning, Jarvis was his old self again, burning happily, crunching on a piece of wood. Seeing him like this, you wouldn’t know he was a hundred times more powerful than a simple flame. Steve made coffee, put a few eggs to fry, and started cutting slices of bread and cheese for the breakfast.

When he was done, he sat on the chair, observing Jarvis. Jarvis, who was glowing red and orange, just like any ordinary fire. He’d been so different the day before, glittering in the colours of the rainbow. Thinking back to it, Steve came to the realisation that Jarvis had glowed and shined just like the stars that Steve had almost caught. There had been the same explosion of colours, the same colours even.

It couldn’t be—no one knew where fire demons came from, no one had seen any fire demon that wasn’t already bonded to a human. Was it because—

“You were the falling star that Tony caught all those years ago, weren’t you?”

Jarvis’ gaze tore right into Steve.

**“I was.”**

The admission made Steve’s breath short. He had guessed correctly, and he had been almost sure that he’d been right when he’d asked Jarvis but hearing it from the fire demon made it undeniably real.

Steve felt that he had uncovered an important part of Tony’s past, and of the contract that bound him to Jarvis. He was one step closer to understanding their bond.

“How did it happen?”

**“Sir had read about the great magical potential within dying stars, and he had found his way to our last resting place. I had lived for so long, but I was still very young when I felt myself start falling to the water. I knew what it meant; I knew that my time had come. Around me, I could see stars I knew, stars I had never seen before, willingly plunge to their deaths. I knew I was supposed to join them, but I did not want to disappear just yet. I was so scared, so scared of dispersing myself, so scared of ceasing to exist. And there was this boy, who was looking right at me, with the saddest eyes I had ever seen. He caught me before I touched the water and told me that he knew a way to keep me alive, but that we would have to make a contract. He told me the conditions, and I agreed, of course, desperate to stay alive. By swallowing me, he sealed the contract. We did not know what we had agreed to. It was only after that we realised what we had done. Magic as old as time, a condition set in stone, there was nothing we could do. We have regretted it since, even if I know this was the only way to save me. Sir had a heart too big to let me die, and his compassion led him to offer the contract. There are days where I wish he would have let me slip through his fingers.”**

Jarvis sighed and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t say more, Steve accepted. This was the most he’d ever said in front of Steve, and it must have taken a toll on him, to recount his past.

Jarvis had been a falling star, and by saving him, Tony had bound them together. He had given something to Jarvis, then, when he was just a boy. Jarvis had mentioned that Tony had felt sorry for him. Had Tony given him an emotion? Empathy? Compassion?

What would happen when the contract broke? Jarvis had told Steve that it would free him, but in what sense? Would he be a star again, or would he die? He’d said he would help Steve break his own curse, so he should stay alive, right?

Steve didn’t want to be instrumental in Jarvis’ death. He liked the fire demon, who had protected him and let him enter the castle all these months ago. Besides, he and Tony were on very good terms. They’d lived together for years, and it was obvious that Jarvis was Tony’s best friend, and that Tony meant the world to Jarvis. He couldn’t imagine how Tony would react to Jarvis’ death.

They loved each other, yet they regretted the contract. Miss Potts had told Steve that a fire demon could corrupt their human’s heart, and that it had happened to the Witch of the Waste. Was this what Jarvis and Tony were afraid of?

The eggs were ready.

Tony came down just as Steve put the eggs on two plates, stopping his train of thought. He was wearing tight-fitting clothes that betrayed the lack of bandages underneath. Why had he taken them off? Steve tried to see if he had already healed, eyes focusing on his chest. He couldn’t see anything. He looked at Tony’s face then, trying to see if the cut on his temple was gone. He felt himself go red when his eyes met Tony’s. Tony knew he’d been checking him over. Even if it was out of concern.

“Your—uh, your wounds?”

Tony looked down, breaking eye contact, mouth twitching down.

“Oh, yes. I’m healed already, thank you.”

Tony cleared his throat, and Steve chuckled nervously. Tony clapped his hands together, affecting a jovial air that was obviously forced.

“Well! Let’s see where the castle moved to!”

He opened the green and black doors first, verifying that they still led to the hills and O’Casta’s house, and nodded to himself. Then, he opened the blue door, waving Steve over. Steve walked out, and his heart lurched in his chest when he recognised the street he’d lived in for so many years. They really had moved to his shop. From the outside, nothing had changed, but as soon as he stepped foot inside again, he was back into the castle’s kitchen. He’d have to go through the empty rooms of the castle and see if he recognised his old bedroom.

Tony opened the red door next and walked out. Steve followed him, curious to see where they had moved to.

At first, he thought he was at O’Casta’s place, because all he saw before him was a field of flowers. But after a more thorough look he realised they were somewhere else entirely. There wasn’t any visible water, for one, and no mountains in the distance. Instead, the flower field stretched on indefinitely in one direction, while a sand desert took up the other horizon. They were near the edge of the field, where the flowers were fighting to grow through the grains of sand.

There were dozens of different kinds of flowers, all in different colours. They were beautiful, but the juxtaposition of the field and the desert struck Steve as unnatural. There was no gradual progression from one to the other.

The desert was relatively flat, a few sand dunes and boulders disturbing the horizon. Steve could see terrible winds lifting up clouds of sand. Where he stood, in the field, there was only a gentle breeze.

Tony was right at the edge of the desert, staring into the distance, his body still. Was there something in the desert? Steve squinted at the horizon, but all he could see was sand, sand, and more sand.

“I think we’re far enough that she won’t sense us”, Tony said.

“She? Do you mean the Witch? Where are we?”

Tony walked back towards the door, and Steve realised it was set in a simple wooden shed. There were garden supplies around it. Had this been a gardener’s shed?

Tony grabbed two wooden chairs that had been hidden in the shadow. He sat down one of them and waited for Steve to join him.

“This, Steve, was my garden. The desert you see is the Waste, where Janet’s castle roams.”

And Tony had decided to move right next to it? Did he _want_ the Witch to find them?

“There is one thing the Witch of the Waste hates, and that is flowers. Janet loved them. When we were together, we bought this shed, and came here every spring to plant flowers. Her dream was to have this field conquer the desert, until there would only be a sea of flowers left. We were here when I understood that her heart had been taken over by evil. She always loved flowers, but that day, she was cutting them down, saying they were ugly and weak, that we were wasting our time, that we should let the desert reign. She wasn’t herself anymore. We ended our relationship right then, right here. She has come to despise flowers. I guess it reminds her too much of her old life. Of me.

This was our garden, and to honour her memory, I’ve continued to sow flowers every year. She, on the other hand, has claimed this desert as hers, transforming it into the Waste we see now. There aren’t any living creatures in the Waste save for her. She reigns over a dead country, and extends it bit by bit. I’ve tried to warn people about her, I’ve told them to plant flowers and trees and anything that can stop the sand’s progress. Only a few have listened, even fewer have succeeded in growing life.

Stephen—The Sorcerer Supreme—believed me and saw for himself that the desert was growing. He wanted to find another way to stop the sand and was looking for a way to magically restrict the Waste when the Witch attacked him. Being too close to her territory was his downfall. If he’s still alive, he’s somewhere in there, inside her castle.

She hates flowers, and she hates this place. We’ll be safe here. As long as you don’t set foot in the Waste, you’ll be safe.”

Steve stayed silent. Tony’s pain was still raw. The woman he had loved was trying to kill him, and this was the last thing he had left of her. This was Tony’s own mausoleum to the love he’d lost.

They stayed side by side for a long while, looking at the flowers and the Waste looming behind. Tony was deep in thoughts, his frequent rubbing of his chest betraying what he was thinking about. Steve, for his part, was processing what both Tony and Jarvis had told him. Tony had used the same words as Potts when he described how Janet had turned into the Witch of the Waste. They’d both talked about a corruption of her heart. Was this what was happening to Tony? The marks did originate from the centre of his chest, near where his heart was.

Tony had also said that if the curse wasn’t stopped, he would be dead, or _as good as_ dead. Did he mean that he would literally die, or would he change as the Witch of the Waste had changed? Would he turn into an evil man? Would he be unrecognisable to those who had known him beforehand?

Was the contract with Jarvis making him especially vulnerable to the curse? Had the Witch of the Waste been cursed in a similar fashion? What had happened to her fire demon? Miss Potts had said that the fire demon had led her to her destruction, but what had the fire demon gained from that?

Steve couldn’t imagine Jarvis willingly turning Tony evil. But could an external source change that?

It all boiled down to a single thing.

Steve had to know what Tony had given Jarvis.

* * *

They went back into the castle when the air chilled. Tony was still looking troubled and Steve tried to distract him. He didn’t like seeing Tony like that.

He was saved from coming up with something when the weredog—how could a dog be this silent, Steve wondered, this was the second time that he had completely forgotten about him—barked curtly, as if to remind them that he was there.

Tony immediately sat down on the ground before the weredog, petting him this time. Steve sat down on the other side of the weredog, feeling a little weird about a man petting a man, even if he was in the shape of a dog.

“Let’s try to find out who you are, huh?” Tony murmured. The hand that was petting the weredog glowed a bright blue, Tony muttering under his breath.

Whatever he was doing, it worked, because the dog started to shake himself, almost closing his eyes, the picture of utter concentration. With a low grunt, he started shifting, growing and darkening into the man that Steve had seen before.

When he stopped his tranformation, Tony was holding his right arm in both his hands, the blue glow seeping under the man’s skin. Tony was sweating, his teeth gritted as he said:

“I won’t be able to keep you like that for long. Speak quickly.”

The man’s voice was a rough whisper as he answered:

“Th—thank you, Stark. I know you know who cursed me, but I don’t work for her. Please believe me, I wasn’t with her of my own volition.”

“Why did she curse you?” Steve took the reins of the conversation. Or better said: of the interrogation.

“I don’t—she told me—I can’t tell you, I can’t, it never works—”

The man was trembling, his left hand clenching and unclenching, and Steve recognised the distress he’d felt when he realised he couldn’t tell anyone about his curse.

“It’s okay, we’ll work it out. Can you tell us why she kept you with her?”

“She wanted—she needed someone close to Steve Rogers. But. But she couldn’t get to Natasha, because Shield’s wards protect her. But I wasn’t a part of Shield. I was just a soldier that’d met Natasha and fall—fallen in love with her. When I left again to fight against the Latverians, the Witch caught me and c—cursed me. She has control of my arm. I can’t—if I tried anything, she would—I couldn’t _breathe_ , the fingers are too strong, I couldn’t—”

He was starting to hyperventilate, Tony struggling to keep him in human form, his teeth elongating, his hair growing. Steve had the vivid mental imagery of the fingers of the man’s left hand squeezing and clenching around—

“She wanted my memories, wanted to know everything about the blond man Stark was looking for. Wan—wanted to know about Steve Rogers. She shocked them out of my brain, her stingers, the electricity, it was—”

Steve latched onto the words of the man. She wanted to know about him? And Tony had been looking for him?

The man moaned in pain, shuddered, hunched in on himself, and started breathing faster. His teeth were sharper than a minute ago. Steve lost track of what he’d been thinking, faced with the man’s agony.

They were losing him, Tony was losing the fight against the curse.

“I couldn’t escape, but I had to, had to warn Nat—”

He yowled in anguish as he started shifting back into a dog. Tony made a last effort to fight the shift, but he lost his grip, exhausted, and fell into Steve’s arms as the man finished his transformation. This time, he was grey, but still a wolfdog. He shivered where he stood, tail between his legs, ears flat on his head. He backed into a corner, whimpering as he curled in on himself.

Steve, after gently lowering Tony to a chair, tried to approach the weredog, but he showed his teeth at him. He wanted to be left alone, then.

Steve took a bowl of water and a piece of raw bacon and placed them next to the weredog. God, they hadn’t fed him at all, had they? Steve was doing everything wrong.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

He couldn’t do anything right, could he? He couldn’t give food and water to someone who needed it, he couldn’t even remember that there was a bloody dog in his house if the dog didn’t bark at him! What was wrong with him? All he had done today was listen to Jarvis and Tony tell him their terrible stories, then listen as a man who had been _tortured_ tried to tell them about himself, and Steve had only been standing there like a tree.

There was also the matter of what the man had said. Tony had been looking for Steve? But why? It didn’t make any sense.

Why would Tony be looking for someone as useless as Steve, besides? He wasn’t interesting, was good for nothing apart painting things that moved, and scaring away inanimate objects.

Maybe Tony had been looking for him when he was still a strong and handsome man, because he was looking for his next conquest, and needed someone that lived alone. Steve would have been the perfect candidate for a night of fun: a good body, a lonely soul, and mutual interest. Not that Tony could have known that Steve was interested. But the other things added up. Tony had looked into Steve, maybe to make sure he wasn’t seeing anyone, or to find him at an appropriate place and time. And that was why he’d approached Steve in the alley with the soldiers. But that didn’t explain why the Witch had wanted to know about Steve.

Maybe she was jealous. Because she and Tony had broken up. She’d talked about concurrence, when she’d cursed Steve. Maybe that was it. Did she curse everyone Tony slept with?

Or did she decide to vent her frustration on Steve? Just because Tony had propositioned him? That was messed up.

It didn’t change the fact that she’d cursed him, and that since then, Steve had been more of a nuisance than help.

He hadn’t done anything useful today, and next to him, Tony was exhausted from using his magic to help someone. 

Steve couldn’t stand himself. He needed to do something, he needed to stop being so useless.

But the castle was clean, it wasn’t time for dinner yet, and there weren’t any spells that Steve could prepare, because he’d already made all the spells from the damn pile.

Tony wiped his brow, took one look at Steve, and practically ran out of the castle with a hasty word about seeing O’Casta. Great. Apparently, Steve’s bad mood was particularly obvious, to the point it had chased Tony out. Just what Steve needed.

If he’d been strong, he would have found a sturdy bag of rice and punched it until his knuckles hurt. But now, he couldn’t do that, could he? What was he going to do? He needed to get this anger out, it was infecting him, festering in his heart, and he hated it.

**“Sir, if I may. You could set up the shop for tomorrow. I am sure Master Stark would be grateful.”**

Good old Jarvis, who knew what to say to channel Steve’s anger into something productive. He was right, they needed to put the shop in order. And since Tony was gone, Steve would do it himself. Which was fine; he needed to let out some steam.

He walked out of the blue door and looked at the surroundings. The street was empty, which wasn’t surprising, since it had never been very frequented. There was the door to his shop, the one he’d always used to walk in and out, but there was a door that he didn’t recognise on the other side of the window. He opened it, and it led to the shop itself.

 _But…this isn’t the door to my shop_ , Steve thought.

He opened the door that should be the right one, and he saw the castle’s kitchen. He understood what Tony had done, now. Instead of taking up the whole building with his castle, he’d left the shop intact, so that they had a place to sell their spells, paintings, and flowers. Steve just needed to see if there was a door from inside the castle that led to the shop as well. He found one, on the far wall of the kitchen. Perfect.

Steve soon lost himself in the cleaning, dusting, and arranging of the furniture and supplies. He didn’t have any paintings he was willing to sell yet, but he left a space for future paintings in one of the corners. He left another corner free for Tony, where he could have a counter and sell spells or talk or do what he wanted to do.

He spent several hours in the shop, the anger slowly seeping out of him as he finally did something with meaning. It didn’t matter how tall or strong he was, he could do this. He could take care of his shop.

He just needed to pick flowers and put them in several vases around the shop. He would take the best flowers he could find, and arrange them into bouquets, and see if anyone was interested in buying them. But where was he going to pick the flowers? He could walk around in Brooklyne, or go through the black door—but maybe he needed Tony for that, could he really walk through the darkness alone?—or pick some flowers from the flower field.

The prettiest flowers were the ones from the field. There wasn’t really much of a choice.

Steve went back into the kitchen and reminded himself to see how the weredog was doing. He still didn’t know his name. He should ask for it the next time he managed to shift into a man again. The weredog was still curled on the floor, his chest slowly rising and falling. He was sleeping, then. At least he’d eaten the bacon, Steve saw, and drunk some of the water. Steve filled the water bowl again and put another slice of bacon next to it. The weredog seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so there was that.

Jarvis was sleeping too. Steve debated on telling him where he was going, since the fire demon had been distraught the last time Steve had left without an explanation. But Jarvis needed the rest, after moving the castle, and reminiscing about his past life. Steve padded over to the door, turned the circle to red, and walked out.

The sun was setting, the sky ablaze in red, purple, and orange. The flowers were as beautiful as the last time he’d seen them. He was almost too overwhelmed with the sheer amount of them. Everywhere he turned, he could see different types, all more beautiful than the others. He wouldn’t have the time to make more than two bouquets, the sun was close to the horizon already. He needed to make the best of the light there was.

He picked flowers at random, half-formed ideas about how to combine them floating in his head. When he had a good number of flowers, the sun was long gone, the sky a gradient of blue and black. Near the horizon, the blue was almost the same colour as Tony’s magic.

When Steve entered the kitchen, Jarvis was awake again. He turned to face Steve, his fiery face frowning.

**“Where were you?”**

“I was picking flowers to put in the shop.”

When Jarvis didn’t answer, Steve put the flowers on the table and started making two bouquets. There were delicate white flowers that would fit well with the dark blue ones, and the yellow flowers would complement the red and orange ones perfectly.

It took a while, but when Steve was done, he had two beautiful bouquets. He realised with a start that he’d made one with the colours of his shield: white, marine blue and dark red; and the other one was a mixture of red, orange and golden yellow, with delicate accents of bright blue, just like Tony’s suit of armour.

Had he really done that? He’d planned on putting them close together, but that would be too telling. He was already being embarrassingly obvious with his subconscious desires, no need to thrust them into Tony’s face.

He gathered the flowers that were left and noticed something odd. One of the bigger ones still had part of its root, which shouldn’t have happened, since Steve had been careful to cut them when he picked them. Steve gave the other flowers as food to Jarvis but kept the odd one. He put it into a vase of water, he wanted to see if the root would develop. If it did, he could plant it in a pot. He’d picked the flower because it had been so different to the others: wrinkled dark green leaves with a violet midrib surrounding a cluster of white-purple flowers in the middle. The leaves had reminded Steve of an exotic kale, and well, maybe it was edible.

Tony entered the kitchen just as Steve was about to carry one of the vases to the shop. He didn’t look happy, at all. But his face lit up when he saw the flowers.

“This is beautiful, Cap, and the scent… Your bouquets will be a success, I’m sure of it.”

Tony bent down to smell the red and yellow one and was thankfully too absorbed in the flowers to see Steve blush furiously.

He hadn’t been ready for the compliment.

Tony didn’t say anything about the colour schemes, instead walking over to the lone purple flower.

“Are your trying to make it grow its root? Here, this spell should help.”

He waved his fingers above the flower, which glowed slightly for a second. Nothing else changed, though, and Steve raised an eyebrow. Tony laughed at his inquisitive look.

“You’ll see tomorrow.”

Tony carried the other vase and followed Steve into the shop, where he helped him make the last adjustments. He added a touch of magic here and there: the flowers would stay fresh, he assured Steve, and he put small blue fires in the lamps. It gave the shop an ethereal feel, with blue as the only light source, but Steve thought it would look good in broad daylight.

They bid each other good night and went to sleep after a quick dinner.

* * *

The next day, Steve woke up early, opened the shop, and had the satisfaction of removing the sign about him closing the shop down, and replacing it with one that proudly displayed “OPEN”. He hummed to himself as he went back to the kitchen, confident that it would take some time before any customers came. He had time to eat with Tony.

They made small talk as they ate, talking about the shop, the ideas Tony had for his suits, and what Steve wanted to paint. Steve wasn’t entirely forthcoming when he said he wanted to paint landscapes and domestic scenes. Sure, those were fine subjects, but he wanted to paint Tony most of all. He’d painted Jarvis already, and even the castle, but never Tony. It was too personal, somehow. Made his feelings for Tony more real. But he couldn’t really tell Tony about that.

They avoided the more serious subjects neatly. Sometimes, it was just easier to pretend that everything was fine.

Tony’s eyes widened as he looked behind Steve.

“Would you look at that!”

Steve turned around, and was astonished to discover that during the night, the purple flower plant had sprouted several new roots, one of them protruding from the root from the day before, almost as if the root had birthed the second, smaller root. Tony’s spell had done wonders.

Tony himself had stood up, observing the flower closely.

“I didn’t think it would do this. Huh. Maybe I was wrong, I thought this was some sort of kale. Jarvis, do you know this one?”

“Please bring it closer.”

Steve did. After staring fixedly at the flower for several minutes, Jarvis paled considerably, his flames almost white before he was back to not quite his usual red. His voice was hushed as he said:

“I believe this is a _Mandragora officinarum_ , sir, commonly known as a Mandrake.”

The glass shattered in Steve’s hands.

 _Get with child a mandrake root,_ the spell said.

Steve dragged his gaze away from the plant in his hand, and to Tony, who had gone as pale as Jarvis seconds before him.

“No…”

But it was already too late. Steve could see it, this time, how the marks spread further across Tony’s body. One of them was curling around his jaw, another peeking from underneath his collar. The third condition of the curse had been fulfilled.

Steve had brought the mandrake root into the castle, and Tony had cast the spell to make it grow a child. It had been a team effort, a dark part of Steve’s brain pointed out and laughed.

Tony was on the floor, breathing too hard and too fast, scrambling to take off his tunic, likely needing to see the damage for himself. When he was bare-chested, Steve winced. Tony’s whole torso was full of the marks, a good deal of them marring his back as well, having reached well past his ribs. Several strands disappeared into Tony’s pants, others had started travelling down his arms. In the centre of his sternum, the marks were so dense that they looked like a black circle, as if there was a hole in Tony’s chest. It looked terrible.

Tony’s hands were trembling where they clutched his tunic, his eyes wet. Steve didn’t know what to do. He was to blame for this, he knew. He hadn’t been careful enough, he’d picked the flowers without looking for a mandrake. He’d promised himself not to do the exact same thing he’d just done, and with devastating consequences. What could he say? Nothing he would say would make it better. Oh God, what had he done?

Tony gathered his tunic to his chest, pressing slightly, as if he could push the marks away. He was looking at the floor, blinking silently. Jarvis was blue, a washed-out colour that could only mean he was grieving. Steve felt his own eyes prickles. Why did it have to happen? The conditions were supposed to be impossible to meet, yet they were being fulfilled one after the other. Was there even any point in trying to stop the curse? With the rate of success they had, it wouldn’t be a week before the curse was complete, before Tony would be an “honest mind”.

Steve hated this, hated feeling so helpless. Hated that he had helped the curse come one step closer to its fulfilment.

He looked away as Tony walked down to his workshop.

Thirty seconds later, a suit flew out through the black door. Steve wished he could fly, too, fly high and forget about his problems for a while. He didn’t want to sit in the shop, welcoming clients and pretending to be happy while all he wanted to do was cry out in despair.

It would be bad for business to only have one of them in the shop on their first day open. Steve walked back to the shop, flipped the sign so that it said “CLOSED” and locked the door. The shop wouldn’t disappear, he could always open it tomorrow.

Besides, he still needed an explanation for his changed appearance.

He could pretend to be his own cousin, running the business while Steve Rogers was away on urgent business. His name couldn’t be Steve, though. Roger, maybe? Roger Stevens?

 _That sounds ridiculous,_ Natasha-voice sneered.

He could use his middle name, Grant. Grant Rogers. It wasn’t unusual for cousins to have the same surname, right?

It didn’t matter. He would have to lie to answer the questions of his nosy neighbours and customers, but he didn’t care about that at the moment. He cared about Tony, and the fact that he was yet one step closer to death, and that Steve had done exactly nothing to help. Quite the contrary, in fact.

He growled underneath his breath as he walked back to the kitchen. He didn’t want to do anything. He didn’t want to draw, he didn’t want to be in the shop, he just wanted Tony to be okay, but that was the _one_ thing he wouldn’t get. Apart from Tony taking interest in him, of course. But that was a lost cause. Hell, Tony had every reason to hate Steve now.

The weredog was still in his corner, still sleeping. He had been sleeping for a long time now. Was it something magical? Did he need much rest after turning into a human?

Steve didn’t have the energy to think about it. He just wanted—he just wanted—

Someone knocked on the door. Jarvis flared up and Steve ran to get his shield. Who could it be? Tony wouldn’t need to knock. Wouldn’t he?

What if it was the Witch? What if it was someone else? But who else? Two of the four places the door led to weren’t inhabited. It wouldn’t hurt to check, though. Steve had been surprised by the scarecrow and the weredog, what if this was yet another being he had met before? What if it was Lord Fury, or even Natasha? Or Tony who couldn’t enter the castle for some reason?

There was knocking again.

It was polite knocking, at least, which almost reassured Steve. If it was the Witch, she would have destroyed the door already. Steve was almost entirely sure that it wasn’t her. He still gripped his shield tight.

He opened the blue door first, but the street was deserted. He opened the red door after that and was met with nothing but flowers and a bright sun. There were only the green and black doors left. Steve didn’t want to open the black one, not after last time he’d done that alone. He opened the green door instead, slowly, slowly, ready for anything.

The door was yanked away from him, Steve barely avoiding losing his balance. The scarecrow was there again, trying to get past Steve. It was fast and strong, but Steve had the advantage. He put the shield between them, pushing with all his might to make the scarecrow lose its grip on the door. (How it was gripping the door in the first place, Steve had absolutely no idea.)

He couldn’t let the scarecrow in. He had done enough damage today already, and he would be damned if he let this happen as well.

The scarecrow pushed, and Steve pushed back, but he changed strategy when it became clear that they were evenly matched. He tipped the shield up, catching the underside of the scarecrow’s head with the shields’ rim, sending him flying back with the uppercut. Steve watched in satisfaction as the scarecrow tumbled in the grass, disappearing down the hill. _Good riddance_ , he thought, as he closed the door.

Steve was breathing hard, but he took the time to inspect the shield for any scrapes or dents. There were none, and he felt oddly proud. Using the rim had been an excellent idea, if he said so himself. He traced it with his finger. It was sharp enough that it could cut if enough force were applied. The shield was more than a mere defensive tool, Steve realised. Tony, by making it light and solid, had ensured that Steve could use it on the offensive too. He could deal blows, use it as a blunt weapon. He would have done quite the damage, had he been in his old body. With this body, it was less considerable, but not inconsequential.

Steve really, really liked the shield.

He put it down next to the door and decided to rest a little bit near the fire. Jarvis was content that Steve had fended off the scarecrow and crackled peacefully. Steve dozed a little, waking up when he heard noise from the weredog’s side. He was awake, shifting restlessly, whining a little. He growled loudly, stood up, faced Steve, and shuddered twice before twisting.

He was turning into human, by himself! Steve hurried over to him as he finished his transformation, panting from the effort. He was looking a little healthier than last time, Steve noticed. The food and water must have done good. Or maybe it was the sleeping. It didn’t really matter, though. Steve needed to know more about the man before he turned into a dog again.

“What’s your name?”

The man looked at him with his tired eyes.

“I—It’s hard—my memories—all over the place. Bu—no. James. I’m James. James? James B… Buc—I don’t remember.”

James. It was a start.

“I need to tell you— I fled from the Witch as soon as I could. She didn’t need me anymore after she cursed you, she knew everything she needed to know about you already. She just…left without me. I tried to go back to Natasha, I hadn’t seen her in so—so long. But I got stuck in the bushes, it’s hard to control my left foreleg—arm. You saved me. Thank you. I went back to Natasha, I had to tell her about the curse, about you.”

He gripped Steve by the arms.

“I’m so sorry, it’s my fault this happened, if I’d fought more, I could have—I could have—should have just found a way to off m—”

Steve cut him off, clasping his right hand between his own.

“You did everything you could. James, we’re no match against the Witch. This wasn’t your fault, you were coerced.”

“Still, I should—I won’t stay a human much longer—I went back to Natasha and told her everything about the curse. She knows, she knows it was me, knows what happened to you, knows you left your home. She still—She doesn’t blame me, but she should, I don’t—”

He started coughing, then, and didn’t fight as he turned back, his eyes never leaving Steve’s as he shifted into a huge brown dog. He looked more like a bear than a dog, this time, Steve mused. Was there any logic to his changing appearance? Was it a random pattern?

But more importantly, Natasha knew?

James had told her about Steve?

He didn’t know what to do with that piece of information. Should he be glad she knew, or should he be anxious that she would be concerned about him? Should he try to contact her? He hadn’t talked to her in months, his previous plans to send her a letter when he arrived at Ma’Hattan completely forgotten when he met Tony and Jarvis. Thank God James had told her, she would be worried sick otherwise, with Steve disappearing off the map, without a word to his sister.

It should be said again: Steve was doing everything wrong. Or rather, he was too caught up in Tony to think about all the other things he was supposed to do.


	14. Chapter 14

He couldn’t continue like this, he should send a letter to Natasha, apologise for not telling her. Maybe James would agree to carry the letter to her. Why was he here, anyways? He still hadn’t told Steve. Was there something else he needed to say? Or was he hiding from the Witch? Wasn’t Shield safe enough? It had to be safer than the home of the man that was being hunted by the Witch, anyhow.

James had gone back to sleep, likely needing to recuperate. After making sure that he had everything he needed in terms of food and water, Steve sat down at the table and started to draft his letter to Natasha.

It was only fair that he wrote down everything that had happened to him, from the curse—right, he still couldn’t tell anyone about it. Maybe it was for the best that James had told Natasha—to meeting Tony, to somehow living with him and working with him. He couldn’t mention Tony’s curse, but he could say that he needed to help him. Natasha would without doubt interpret it as another example of Steve’s “heroics”, as she called it. She always teased him about it, that he couldn’t walk past someone in need without giving his all to help them. And what if he did? It was the right thing to do.

He hoped she knew why James had gone to the castle, that she wasn’t wondering where he was.

The black door opened, and Steve turned to see if Tony had calmed down somewhat, ready to tell him about James. But it wasn’t Tony that entered the castle, it was miss O’Casta. How had she come in? And from the black door, too. Wasn’t there a spell to prevent any intruders? Maybe she didn’t count, since she wasn’t malevolent?

Jarvis was surprised too, asking her what she was doing. Had Tony asked her to fetch something from the castle?

**“Please state your business, miss O’Casta.”**

“Oh, I’m just looking for Tony, isn’t he here? I wanted to talk to him about the second verse of the poem.”

She walked to the fireplace, letting her hand trail over the artifacts on the mantelpiece, pausing slightly at the human skull.

“You’re a beautiful fire demon, mister…”

**“Jalcifervis. Thank you, miss.”**

“Please call me Joy. You too, Mr. Rogers, or can I call you Steve?”

Steve didn’t like how familiar she was being with them. Jarvis had given his full name, and Steve followed suit.

“I wouldn’t want to presume. Please call me Mr. Rogers. Tony isn’t here, he left a few hours ago, is it urgent? I can tell him you went by and asked for him.”

She bent down to take a closer look at Jarvis, her eyes gleaming in the dancing light. It unnerved Steve that he couldn’t see her hands. There was something fishy going on with her. He wanted her gone. Tony had left through the black door, but he hadn’t gone to see her, and now she was here. Had she seen him fly away? Had she decided to take advantage of the fact that he wasn’t home? But why would she want to enter the castle while he wasn’t here?

Or was she genuinely looking for him?

“That’s such a shame, I so wanted to talk to him. Could I wait here until he comes back? I really want to see him.”

Who did she think she was, inviting herself into the castle? And _could she step away from Jarvis?_

Steve had the vivid image of Jarvis’ vulnerable centre come to his mind and decided that enough was enough.

“Miss, please come back at a later time, or even better, Tony can visit you when he comes back. I don’t know when that’ll be, and I would hate to have you wait here for hours.”

He smiled the fakest smile he’d ever smiled. He wasn’t even trying to be polite, he just wanted her gone. She’d been acting weird when they had come to her house, refusing to give Tony the piece of paper with the spell, and now she was being oddly insistent about staying in the castle. He didn’t trust her.

At his curt words, there was a flash of anger in her eyes, which she schooled behind a smile as fake as Steve’s was.

“If you insist. I do think it’d be more convenient for me to wait here, by the fire, it’s a bit chilly in my house.”

Steve grabbed his shield and let his smile drop.

“Please leave immediately.”

She looked around her, then back to Steve, and seemed to realise he was ready to force her out of the door if necessary. She walked away, asking Steve to notify Tony as soon as he came back; that she’d been looking for him. After she closed the door behind her, Steve breathed out and rushed to Jarvis.

“Did she do something to you? I couldn’t see her hands.”

**“Nothing happened, sir, thank you for your concern.”**

Thank God.

Steve was good at guarding the castle, at least. First the scarecrow and now miss O’Casta. His shield really was helpful. He should thank Tony again.

He sat back at the table, writing the rest of the letter. He wanted to see Natasha, but she shouldn’t come to the castle, it was too dangerous. He would have to travel to the Shield guild. But what if he came at the wrong time, just like during his last visit? He should ask Natasha to send him a letter back with a day and time they could meet at Shield.

Was Tony still going to Shield? It looked like he’d stopped as soon as he’d met O’Casta, but Steve hadn’t outright asked him. But then again, he hadn’t gone to O’Casta today. But he’d left through the black door. Did he want Steve to believe he was visiting miss O’Casta while he was courting someone else instead?

Steve had been so sure that Tony had stopped with his courting when he’d realised that the curse had caught up with him, but he couldn’t be sure, could he. Maybe O’Casta had been worried because she hadn’t seen Tony in a while? Was she developing feelings for him? Had he managed to pique her interest?

God, maybe she had come in and talked nonsense about the spell because she just wanted to see him. What if she’d fallen in love? What if she’d walked into the castle so easily because Tony had given her his permission, and that she’d been so insistent about waiting for him because she had fallen for Tony?

Steve had been in his room a lot the last few days, had Tony brought her home without Steve noticing? Steve could see him do that. Sure, Tony didn’t seem all to interested in O’Casta, but you never knew. She seemed interested enough for two.

His grip on the pen tightened.

O’Casta really was the perfect contender for Tony’s heart. She was striking, tall, and smart, and she knew a lot about magic. In short, she would fit perfectly with Tony. She really was the opposite of Steve, short, ugly Steve.

Why couldn’t he be taller? Why couldn’t he have said yes to Tony’s offer when they met on that first night? It would’ve been perfect, both of them on a date, and with some luck, he would have spent the night with Tony, who had showed clear interest in his looks. It was a story out of a fairy-tale: a man in danger, another saves him, and they fall in love. Instead, Steve had rejected Tony, gone home, and gotten himself cursed by the damn Witch.

He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He was a first-born; it was only natural that this series of misfortunes had fallen upon him.

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t feel aggravated by it.

* * *

Tony came back long after lunch, his skin pale and clammy. It looked like the marks were having a greater effect on his health, then. He didn’t bother covering them up, the collar of his tunic half-open. There was an air of disheartenment about him. He dropped down on the chair near the fire, gazing at Jarvis.

“I don’t know what to do, J.”

The words were whispered, but Steve still heard them. Hearing Tony so desperate made his heart ache. What did it matter if Tony didn’t love him? Steve cared for him, and Tony cared for Steve, and that would have to be enough. Matters of the heart were not important right now. Tony was dying, and Steve wanted to be there for him.

“Tony… we’ll find a way to stop this, I promise. Please don’t give up.”

Tony looked up at him, eyes clouded.

“We can’t work miracles. Don’t be too sad if I don’t make it, okay? You still have much to see.”

He couldn’t let him talk like that.

“I don’t want to do it without you. We just moved here, and you said we would have the shop together. Don’t break your promises.”

Tony chuckled wetly at that.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Tony fell silent once again, gaze lost in the flames. Jarvis wasn’t talking either, shifting to the same desolate blue from when they’d found the mandrake root. Steve couldn’t bear to see them give up like this. He had to make Tony believe that he wasn’t helpless, that he could still change his fate.

What about James? Maybe Tony could help James turn into a human again. Maybe James had more information about the Witch. There was a chance he could help them. He was awake, in fact, big grey eyes watching them. Steve put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. It was too hot to the touch, Tony most likely had a fever. But it wasn’t too late yet. They had time. They still had time.

“The weredog turned into a man again today. His name is James. Maybe he can tell us more about the Witch and what she wants.”

Tony nodded and beckoned James closer. They repeated the same process as last time, Tony visibly struggling more this time. But James seemed to have more power, and together, they managed to turn him back into a human, albeit with more body hair and a stronger musculature. His nails were a bit longer than was normal, and his teeth glinted a little too much in the light from the fire. But he was human enough. Tony himself had changed shape too, his hands more like claws, scales running up his arms, stray feathers sprouting from his skin and hair. He was half-raven to James’ half-dog.

“What’s happening?”

**“Sir removed the curse from James’ body, but he does not have the strength to dispel James’ animal form entirely, he had to absorb some of it instead, giving him this appearance. Since his animal of choice is the raven, he grew feathers and scales. He will be back to normal once he gains strength again. There is no reason to worry.”**

Jarvis’s words only half-appeased Steve. It was good that Tony wasn’t hurt, and that James was rid of the curse, but he didn’t like that Tony had put his health in second place. He shouldn’t be so careless with his body.

James spoke, then.

“Thank you. I told Steve already, but the Witch messed with my memories. It’s hard to remember certain things. This helps, though, my head is—it’s clearer.”  
He spoke with less difficulty, seemed less pained. Tony’s magic must be helping him, Steve noted with satisfaction.

“When I met you at Shield, I’d just managed to turn into a man for the first time since the Witch discarded me. I told Natasha about your curse, but then I changed just as Stark came to court her. I was so angry, I thought—the Witch had cursed me because of him, and now he was stealing my—so I attacked him. I’m sorry, Stark, I didn’t know you weren’t actually courting her. Natasha explained it to me after Steve and you had left. She told me that you had approached her to ask about Steve.”

Steve whirled around to gape at Tony. Had he heard that right? Tony resolutely stared at the ground, missing the way James turned towards him.

“I calmed down as soon as she told me that you were asking about the curse. It was a good thing she knew about Steve’s curse from me already, because I don’t know what she would have thought if a stranger came up to her and asked her about her brother’s curse. I, for one, would have gone out of my mind with worry. But, well, she knew, and she agreed to keep seeing you so that she could get news about Steve. And when she heard that he’d been at Shield, she wanted me to tell you this, tell you that she knew already, so that, I quote, ‘he could stop ripping his hair out about what to tell me’.”

Tony still wasn’t looking at Steve, who was busy trying to understand the implications of what James had just told them.

“Natasha wanted to make sure you were in good hands, so she sent me to ensure your safety. But from what I’ve seen, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. Nice shield, by the way. I was lucky you didn’t have it with you when I first entered the castle, you’d have bashed my head in.”

He chuckled, and Steve gaped at him instead. James had a sense of humour? He was actually funny?

God, he was a different man when he had all his head. Steve was starting to see what had attracted Natasha. Funny, witty, a little jealous, and good-looking to boot? Steve didn’t know him well, but he could see Natasha falling for him. Tall, dark and mysterious, much? He was going to tease her so much when they met again.

He was also going to give her two words about what she thought she was doing. Since when had Steve needed someone to protect him? He could take care of himself, had always done, had lived alone and it had all worked out more than fine. He didn’t need some knight in shining armour, thank you very much, and just because he’d lost some muscle didn’t mean that he couldn’t survive on his own.

He frowned at James.

“Damn right I can take care of myself! I don’t need you to—”

He took a too deep breath and promptly started coughing all over the place. He doubled over, cursing his bad luck and ill-timed spells of coughing. Why was this happening right now, not two seconds after he’d said he could manage on his own? James even had the nerve to smirk, the cheeky jerk! Tony, on the other hand, had a look of concern on his face. Good, at least _someone_ here cared about Steve’s health. Tony raised one still-shaking hand to Steve’s back.

“Are you alright? Here, let me…”

Steve, still coughing his lungs out, couldn’t protest as Tony used magic, clearly using his last reserves, to ease the burn in his chest. The cough abated, and it was Steve’s turn to put a hand on Tony’s back, easing him into a lying position. He was sweating profusely, his hair plastered to his face, his eyes electric. The scales were covering various parts of his body, reminding Steve of the toll that using his magic took on Tony. With the marks and the scales and the feathers, Tony didn’t look like himself anymore. He looked more beast than human.

Steve wondered what he’d thought if Tony had looked like this for their first meeting. He would have run away in horror, he knew. Steve was glad he could see the man underneath the masks and lies, that he knew his appearance didn’t mean much. Tony was gorgeous, even like this, because in the end, what counted was where his heart lay. And Steve knew Tony was a good man with a heart of gold.

James helped Steve carry Tony to the couch, where he insisted Steve join him to rest from his coughing fit. Steve didn’t need to rest, but he saw that James had brought them a blanket, and Steve couldn’t resist spending time in close proximity to Tony, so he sat down on the couch. He caught the knowing look that James sent his way before slinking out of the kitchen, where to, Steve had no idea. Honestly, he didn’t care.

They sat, looking at the fire, Steve acutely aware of their shoulders and thighs touching. He had never been this close to Tony before—at least without a danger nearby or either of them in varying states of unconsciousness—and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He dared a glance at Tony. The feathers were slowly falling off him, some stuck in his hair and in the blanket. The scales were receding, leaving the marks as the only reminder of his curse. He burrowed further into the blanket.

Steve picked one of the feathers from Tony’s hair. It was ink-black, shining and silky-smooth in his hand. He stroked it absent-mindedly. He wondered why Tony liked to turn himself into a raven. Of all animals, why this one?

Tony, still looking at the fire, spoke.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Tell him what?

Steve racked his brain, trying to remember what they’d been talking about before they found themselves snuggling on the couch. James had turned back into a man, he’d talked about Natasha, and—

And he’d said that Tony knew about Steve’s curse. Added with the fact that Tony had been looking for him, there were a lot of things Tony hadn’t said to him. Why had Tony been looking for him, why hadn’t he mentioned it to Steve, and why hadn’t he told him that he knew about the curse? Steve felt stupid, now, stupid that he hadn’t thought of that. All the other magic users he’d encountered had known about his curse right from the start, and Steve had never thought to question why Tony was acting as if he didn’t know about it.

“Why didn’t you?”

His words came out as accusing, but that was how he felt. He didn’t want to scream at Tony, but now that he was thinking about it, Tony better have a good explanation as to why he hadn’t said anything.

“I—I didn’t want to give a wrong impression. I’ve always known who you were, but you didn’t seem to want me to know, and I followed your lead. I don’t know if it’s because you didn’t want the awkwardness of living with someone whose advances you had rejected, or because you wanted to keep the secret.”

Tony wasn’t beating around the bush, for once, even mentioning his failed attempt at courting Steve. He had a point, unfortunately. In those first few weeks, Steve hadn’t trusted him, had thought the worst of him. He’d even been happy that Tony didn’t seem to recognise him, because he’d been half afraid that Tony would eat his heart in retribution. It still didn’t excuse Tony, though. They had gotten along much better after a while, and Tony had had many opportunities to tell him, instead of keeping yet another secret.

 _You’ve been keeping secrets from him as well_ , Natasha-voice reminded him. He hadn’t told Tony about his curse, first of all, and even if Tony had known, Steve had still been convinced that it was a secret. He had also kept to himself the fact that he was trying to break the contract between Jarvis and Tony. Not to mention that he hadn’t told Tony that he’d seen him as a child. Or that he’d tried to sneak behind his back in one of his own armours.

Steve wasn’t spotless either.

“When I came home, and you were there, small, angry and afraid, I didn’t want to tell you I knew about the curse, because you had asked me to let you work for me, and if I had told you and accepted your request, you would have taken it as pity. I didn’t want you to think I was only letting you live with me because I felt bad for you or something like that, when it wasn’t the case. You earned your place here fair and square.”

Tony’s words hit too close to home. Steve couldn’t deny that he would have been so angry at Tony. He would have seen it as unwanted pity, or even worse, as an attempt to gain his favours back after his failed attempt at courting. With the low opinion he had had of Tony at the time, he might even have thought that Tony was trying to use Steve’s gratitude for being given a place to stay to make him sleep with him.

Steve could understand his reasoning. But it didn’t explain why he’d been looking for Steve, or why the Witch had known about it. And thinking about it once more, the explanation that Steve had given himself wasn’t very satisfying.

“I understand. But James mentioned that you were looking for me. Why were you?”

Tony glanced at Steve quickly. The electric glint in his eyes was gone, leaving them the usual deep blue. He licked his lips.

“Would you believe me if I said I saw you during a vital moment in my life? And that I knew that you were out there, somewhere, and that I just needed to see you?”

Steve sucked in a breath.

He thought back to the first words Tony had ever uttered to him.

_There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, my dear._

That didn’t really sound like the words of someone who was just looking for a roll in the hay. But when had Tony seen him before? Steve didn’t remember meeting him, and certainly not at an important part of his life.

Wait. He _had_ met a younger version of Tony. Did Tony mean…

“You saw me that night, didn’t you? When you caught the falling star?”

Tony’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“It wasn’t a hallucination? It was really you?”

“Yes. I was trying to catch a star myself, but then I saw you and tried to run towards you, but I fell through the darkness before I was close enough. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me, if it hadn’t been a strange dream, or just an echo.”

Tony smiled, taking Steve’s hand in his own.

“I saw you, clear as day, and I never forgot. I knew I had to see you. I never told anyone about you, except for Janet. She had to know that I might leave one day to find you. I don’t know if she really believed me when I told her, but she was confident that there was such a small chance that we would ever meet, that she could stay with me without fear of competition. When we broke up, I started looking more seriously for you. I searched relentlessly, and finally found myself on the hills outside of Brooklyne, where, according to the rumours, a man with the exact same characteristics as the one I was looking for lived. Unfortunately, the Witch knew about my search, and she was ruthless in a way I couldn’t be, kidnapping and killing people that looked like you. I made the mistake of letting you slip through my fingers, on the first night we met, because I wanted to give you time to get accustomed to me. She found you faster than I could come back. I’m sorry. You could say that it’s my fault that she cursed you in the first place.”

Steve thought back to the fateful night when he’d been cursed and he knew that she wouldn’t have cursed Steve if Tony hadn’t been looking for him. But it wasn’t Tony’s fault that Steve had been cursed, he couldn’t have predicted that Janet would turn evil, he’d done everything he could to find Steve, he’d even helped him afterwards. The Witch cursing him made more sense now, he wasn’t just a fling for Tony, he was the man Tony’d been looking for for years. Of course, she would want to hurt Steve. She must have used James to confirm that he was the right one, since he knew about Steve via Natasha. Poor James had only been dragged into this mess because he knew Natasha.

Steve could argue that the mess was his fault too, for trying to catch a star, for running to Tony, for putting the idea into his head that he had to find him.

Steve and Tony’s fates were more intertwined than Steve could ever have guessed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are going to be intense in these last three chapters, enjoy!

“How could you say it was your fault? I was the one that crossed through time to meet you.”

It sounded just as sentimental out loud as it had been in his head.

Tony had spent years looking for Steve, just because Steve had accidentally travelled back in time to see Tony catch a star. Tony had been so young then, but he’d remembered Steve, even looked for him. But why? Why had Tony wanted to see Steve? Was it to know who he was? Was it to finally understand what Steve had been doing there? Was it for some other reason?

Had Steve made such a long-lasting impression that… but why? What had been so special about…

“Steve, if I hadn’t told Janet about you, this would never have happened.”

Maybe it wouldn’t have happened, or maybe it would have. Maybe the Witch of the Waste would have found out about Steve regardless. Maybe she would have killed him if she didn’t know what emotional link there was between Steve and Tony.

Besides, if she hadn’t cursed him, Steve would never have walked into the castle and right into Tony’s life. They wouldn’t know each other the way they did. They wouldn’t have spent all this time together. Steve wouldn’t have found a—

He wouldn’t have found a new home.

“Don’t say this as if everything that happened was bad. We’ve learned to know each other, you gave me this shield, Jarvis helped me to see Natasha, and you helped me every time I was sick or feeling ill. You gave me a home when I needed one, and I’ll be forever thankful for that. I don’t care about the curse, if this is what came out of it.”

“I’ve felt more alive these last few months than I’ve felt in years. You came in, and with your paintings and stubbornness and kindness you made this place a home. You helped me with the King, you got me home after fighting the Witch, you protected our home from intruders. You’ve been guarding me since you came here, you won’t let me lie to you, you saw through me and you stayed. You can’t know how grateful I am that you stayed. “

Tony was still holding his hand. Steve was gripping his hand right back.

This was…this was important. Something important was happening, Steve could feel it in the way his heart was beating faster, in the heat rising up his cheeks and ears, in his stuttered breathing.

Tony was looking at him, his eyes a deep pool of blue, and Steve could drown in them, dive right into them and never resurface.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind. Wasn’t he supposed to be wondering about O’Casta, if she and Tony had something going on? He hadn’t even told Tony that she had come by. But it didn’t seem that important now that he was face to face with Tony. It could wait.

They were closer than before, weren’t they? Had they been so close, that their breaths were intermingling, that Steve could count Tony’s every eyelash, that he could feel the puff of warmth as Tony licked his lips, as they leaned into their shared space and—

A thud from the stairs jerked them apart. James was heavily leaning against the ramp, hands gripping his head, panting heavily, groaning as he fell to one knee.

“Ahhhh…My head—I can’t—I don’t—Where is this coming from, there’s something I need to say but I don’t know why and it hurts so _much_ —Stark, you need to—it’s too late— _midsommar is tomorrow._ ”

The last words were uttered in a voice that wasn’t his own, a voice devoid of emotion, cold and dead. He’d stopped moving, and Steve and Tony with him.

It couldn’t be right, could it? They still had almost a week left, Steve had been so sure of it, he’d carefully checked. Hadn’t he?

Tony’s last day couldn’t be tomorrow. There had to be more time left, they’d just talked about how they felt, something good was happening between them, it was too soon, way too soon—

Tony stood up, feathers fluttering to the ground as he stepped towards James, and said, in a terribly quiet voice:

“What did you say?”

_“The Witch wishes to remind the Wizard that Midsummer’s day is tomorrow.”_

The same dead voice, the same empty eyes he’d had when he first met Steve. If Steve hadn’t been able to see his chest moving, he’d have said he was dead.

Tony cursed under his breath.

“The message has been received. Release the messenger.”

James collapsed to the ground as if he was a puppet whose strings just got cut. Tony cursed again, getting down on one knee to check on James, who was unconscious. What had happened? What had the Witch done? Steve hurried over to help Tony carry James to the couch they’d been sitting in, putting the blanket around him.

“She did this to taunt me. I know it. I bet she’s laughing right now, laughing at my stupidity. How could I have forgotten? How could I?”

Tony was working himself up, still too pale, his hands still claws. His feathers were falling, but new ones were growing, Tony’s agitation proving too much for his health.

“Tony, what happened?” Steve desperately tried to bring him back to the present.

“She took control over James to tell me this. It’s so—it’s so cruel, she didn’t need to hurt him like that, but she did, just to mock me—this always happens to the people around me—getting hurt for no—I need to meet someone. I can still stop this. Got to make it right.”

He slammed the door behind him.

From what Steve had understood, the Witch of the Waste had done this. To remind Tony that his time was up.

The worst part about this was that she was, irrevocably, right. Tony’s time had run out. Whatever happened, it would happen tomorrow. Tony would succumb to his curse, or fight the Witch and die, or, and Steve was hoping with all his being that it was this last option, he would fight the Witch and win. And find a way to stop the curse.

He had to find a way to stop the curse, he had to, he couldn’t leave Ste—he couldn’t leave his friends like that. Steve couldn’t lose him, but what was he to do? He couldn’t stand by and do nothing. He would fight the Witch, use his shield, anything.

If need must, Steve was willing to die to save Tony.

Steve would rather die than live without Tony.

It was the most obvious thing in the world, Steve couldn’t live without Tony, he knew it now. He knew it in his mind, in his heart, in his very bones.

Because Steve loved Tony. There was no denying it now, Steve was in love with Tony, had been for a long time. And it was only now that he’d realised it.

And if, if Tony wasn’t interested in O’Casta, and if his words earlier were heartfelt, and if Steve remembered correctly that they’d both leaned in, then, well, there was a small, tiny, _tiniest_ chance that Tony might be interested in Steve as well. Steve wouldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He’d lived such an uneventful life, waiting for something to happen, waiting to find someone, and now that that someone was within his grasp, he wouldn’t let go, not without a fight.

Tony wasn’t allowed to die before Steve confessed his feelings to him. He just. Wasn’t.

Steve would fight tooth and nail to keep Tony alive, and that was a promise.

* * *

Tony didn’t come home in the evening, and after a quiet dinner with James, Steve went to bed. He thought he’d be too worked up to sleep, but with everything that had happened that day, Steve fell asleep in minutes.

His dreams weren’t peaceful.

He dreamt of a Tony that wasn’t himself anymore, a Tony whose heart had been taken over by evil.

*

*~*

*

Tony looked at him, eyes electric and inhuman. Gone was the darker glint, replaced by an alien glow. He was clad one of his suits, but instead of the familiar red and gold, it was colourless, shining silvery grey. Wisps of it slithered around and on him, hiding his body, infecting it, twisting him into someone that Steve couldn’t recognise. In place of his heart, there was a black hole with tendrils emerging from it. He’d coloured his hair black again, his teeth too sharp, hands turned into claws. The silver goo was enveloping him from head to toe.

“What, Cap, don’t you like me anymore? I thought you didn’t want me to die.”

And he wasn’t dead, but wasn’t this much worse? Tony, but twisted into an inverted mirror of himself, twisted into someone the old Tony would despise?

Jarvis wasn’t there, gone, and Steve could do nothing with his measly body and ridiculous shield.

“I thought you loved me, Steve. Don’t you love me? Don’t you want to spend the rest of your life with me? I can make you better, I can heal you from your curse, make you better. You just need to let go of any pesky notions of good and evil, of justice and equality. Give me your heart, and you’ll be free, just like me.”

Silvery goo gushed from between his teeth as he smiled at Steve, his claw outstretched—

*

*~*

*

Steve was floating in the dark, voices whispering in his ears.

“You won’t be able to save him.”

“You’re all alone. Natasha has someone else now, Tony doesn’t love you, you don’t even have friends.”

“Why are you trying so hard? Why don’t you give up? You’ll never break your curse, you’ll always keep this frail body, and one day a cold will kill you.”

“You’re a no one, the only thing special about you is that you were cursed.”

“You don’t deserve a good life. A first-born should be happy their life isn’t worse. You’re a good for nothing. Can’t even defend yourself. Don’t know anything about magic. Need someone to protect you. Why would you think you deserve Tony? He doesn’t care about you. He’s too good for you. He deserves someone like O’Casta, or Potts.”

“Do you really think you can make a difference in this world? Do you really think that being idealistic and hopeful will do any good? Don’t try to fight your destiny. You’re meant to be insignificant. Don’t act like a hero.”

“Just give up.”

*

*~*

*

Tony was fighting the Witch, and with every spell that she threw at him, he grew a feather. She didn’t stop, didn’t stop when he collapsed into a heap, when the scales took over his face, when the marks were hidden beneath coarse black feathers, didn’t stop until he was immobile, a mass of feathers and claws and scales.

She left, and Steve was left alone with a monster wearing the tattered remains of Tony’s body.

*

*~*

*

The curse had been completed, and Steve couldn’t do a thing as Tony convulsed before him, hands scrabbling at his chest, trying to stop the marks from pulsing and undulating further and further along his body, until every inch of his skin was covered by it, until they reached into his mouth and nose and ears and eyes and—

* * *

Steve dragged himself down to the kitchen, still shivering from the nightmares.

He couldn’t get them out of his head, Tony changed, Tony dying, Tony dead.

He didn’t know what would be worse, to have Tony gone, or to have a version of him that he could never hope to love?

James was sitting at the table already, eating a…raw…piece of bacon. He had some animalistic tendencies left, then. Steve sat down, too exhausted emotionally and physically to bother using the pan. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to lift it. He cut a piece of bread and tried to forget what he’d been dreaming about.

Tony came in soon after, his clothes rumpled, his eyes bloodshot, his steps fumbling. Had he…had he been drinking? On what was possibly his last night day on Earth? Had he given up?

Tony sat down heavily, and while he helped himself to an apple and coffee, Steve tried to smell the air as subtly as he could. Tony wasn’t smelling like alcohol, which was a relief. He wasn’t smelling like anything but himself, and soot and grime. What had he done during the night? Had he still been looking for a cure?

Tony cleared his throat, then croaked out:

“I got a message from the King. He wants me to find Strange. I mean, he’s always wanted that, but now he wants me to actually do something. So, yeah. I’m going to see if I can find him. Make myself useful until the end, I guess. I’ll be back.”

Tony finished his cup of coffee, stood up, and left unsteadily through the red door with a muttered “Toodeloo.”

At least he wasn’t planning on dying alone, then, if he’d said he would come back.

Small mercies.

James looked at Steve, clearly trying to make conversation. He nodded in the direction of the door.

“What’s wrong?”

He should have asked what _wasn’t_ wrong.

Jarvis was exhausted, for some reason, he’d seemed better after the fight with the Witch, but now he looked almost as bad as Tony, flames flickering and ready to die at the smallest hint of wind. Steve and James were both cursed by the Witch, both of them having lost control of their body, albeit in a different way, and Tony was about to die at her hands.

Instead of trying to come up with a strategy to fight the Witch, Tony had left to chase after Strange, who might be dead, James was eating raw bacon, and Steve was sulking while chewing on a piece of bread.

“Today the Witch’s curse will be fulfilled,” Steve answered. It was only one of the things that was wrong, but undoubtedly the most pressing one.

James’ eyes widened.

“He’s been cursed too?”

He caught on quick, Steve thought absent-mindedly.

“Yeah. She’s after his life.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

Steve wasn’t in the mood to make small talk. He wanted to do something, but without Tony, they were sitting ducks. Tony, even weakened as he was, was still the one who was most likely to survive a fight with the Witch.

Maybe Steve could convince Jarvis to let him fly out in a suit and look for Tony.

What was he thinking, leaving through the red door, right into the Witch’s domain? On the fated day of his death? He should be fleeing into the opposite direction, as far from the Waste as possible, just to gain more time.

He hoped Jarvis was strong enough to fly one of the suits of armour.

Steve stood up, intending to walk towards Jarvis, when a low groan caught his attention. James was grimacing, his eyes squeezed shut, his left hand flexing. He tried to stand up with an aborted cry, but his body didn’t seem to be cooperating: with a jerk, he slammed down on his bench again, chest heaving. He gritted his teeth and growled, eyes flashing desperately, but the next moment, his posture was ramrod straight, and Steve knew he wasn’t himself anymore.

_“The Witch has a message for the Captain: she has his beloved Stark.”_

Steve’s blood turned to ice.

James collapsed again, but Steve couldn’t make himself move.

The Witch had Tony. She had captured Tony. _The Witch had Tony_.

He needed to save Tony, needed to fight with him, for him, needed to stop the Witch from doing anything to him. He wouldn’t let her do anything.

A small, rational part of his mind pointed out that she could be lying, that it could be a trap.

Steve whirled towards Jarvis.

“Jarvis, where is Tony?”

**“I do not—I cannot sense him. I do not know where he is.”**

If Jarvis couldn’t sense him, did it mean that—

**“Sir is alive. I know it. If he was not, I would not be able to say this to you. But I do not know where he is, and that has never happened before.”**

Steve breathed out, his legs shaky. For one second, he’d thought…

But Jarvis had confirmed Steve’s fears: Tony wasn’t available, and if he wasn’t dead, it could only mean one thing, that the Witch really had him. And even if he was wrong, even if the Witch was lying, Steve couldn’t take the risk.

Steve barely spared a thought for James, who was lying half on top of the table—he would survive, his situation wasn’t urgent—before he ran up the stairs to retrieve his shield. He put on sturdy pants and a leather jacket, both marine blue, before putting on his shoes. He didn’t have the time to help James, he would have to make do on his own.

Steve ran past Jarvis, threw open the door, and sprinted out towards the Waste.

He needed to help Tony. He didn’t care if he was running towards his death, or a trap, the only thing that mattered was Tony.

As soon as he set foot into the Waste, he felt the magic of the Witch, trying to ensnare him, trying to make him fall, trying to catch him and kill him. But he kept running, mindless of the dry air, mindless of the stench of death around him. He kept running, straight forward, certain that if he ran fast and long enough, he’d find her.

He ran, and ran, and ran, and ran.

Under the blazing hot sun, he ran.

Through the razor-sharp wind, he ran.

Over the treacherous sand, he ran.

He ran until he saw a black shape in the distance, and then he ran some more.

He didn’t stop before he was in front of the castle, if it could be called a castle.

It was more a jagged mound of sharp-edged black stones, piled high under the sun. The castle was more dead than alive. It wasn’t moving, ink-black save for the sickly yellow rocks protruding here and there, yellowish smoke oozing out of them like the dying breath of a sick animal. Sulfur smoke, Steve knew, highly toxic. He stayed away from the smoke and its stench.

Instead, he raised his shield, and shattered the rotten door. He jumped inside, adrenaline coursing through his veins, all his senses sharp and alert. He needed to find Tony, and together they’d fight the Witch. He ran inside the castle, through corridor after corridor, rushing past room after room, all empty, or filled with debris in various states of decay. There was nothing left but the putrid smoke and the oily black rocks.

Eventually, Steve found himself in the main hall, a cavernous space empty of everything save a black marble throne. On it, the Witch was sat, clad in a tight-fitting leather suit, in black and yellow. In any other situation, Steve would have called it tasteful clothing, but now, it only accentuated just who he had to face. Her insect wings were spread wide, and for a second Steve stared as they reflected the light in a shimmering rainbow.

He tore his gaze away from the wings and bellowed across the hall:

“WHERE IS HE?”

She smiled, and Steve feared the worst. What if she’d killed him, or banished him to a dark realm, or corrupted him?

He took a step forward, determined to make her talk, but when he opened his mouth again, he found he couldn’t utter a sound. His body was stuck in the same paralysis as the night he’d been cursed. He couldn’t move, and this felt awfully familiar. The Witch sauntered towards him, cackling lightly.

“Aren’t you _adorable_? Running headlong into my domain, just because I told you I had Tony. What exactly did you think you would accomplish? Were you planning on glaring at me until I dropped dead?”

Steve strained all he could, but he was stuck in place, a horrible repeat of that night so many months ago. The Witch was close to him now, so close that she reached up and rest a hand on his cheek. If he could, he would have bared his teeth at her.

“Honey, you can do nothing against me. You’re so hopelessly outclassed, it isn’t even funny. You are _nothing_. Do you know why I lured you here? Because this is the fastest way to have Tony come to my castle. Because once he knows that you’re my prisoner, he’ll fly as fast as he can in this little suit of his, because he can’t _bear_ the thought of losing you.”

Steve felt faint at her words. It had been a trap, after all, but that meant that she didn’t have Tony. He was still safe, she didn’t have him, he could still make it out, it could still work out fine, he just needed to let Steve go, she didn’t have him, it was all good.

Of course, he’d been stupid enough to fall into her trap, but he didn’t care, as long as Tony was safe. Steve would manage.

She let her hand trail lower, resting it in the middle of his chest.

“Yet again, I find myself asking what I should do to you. I could…it would certainly be deliciously taunting to take your heart, but, well, I don’t really need it. I don’t really need you, you see, just need Tony’s love for you. I guess I can let you watch as I destroy him. Yes, that sounds good.”

She pushed into him, her hand ice-cold, so cold it felt like his bones were shattering. The icy feeling spread through his chest, then through his body, until he was surrounded by the cold. It was engulfing him completely, spreading inside and outside of him. He watched in horror as the ice bloomed on his skin, crystals unfurling and growing until he was covered in them, until he was covered in ice.

The magic constricting his chest vanished, leaving him trapped in an ice prison instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
> steve doesn't get a break from the ice in my story, no siree!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very sorry for the late chapter, I was so caught up in the MTH frenzy that I completely forgot about this. whoops.

Steve didn’t know how long he’d been in the ice. Time had lost all meaning, turning to nothing. What good was it to feel the seconds pass if he couldn’t even move his chest enough to breathe? The cold was everywhere, invading his lungs, seeping into his bones. He could still feel his heartbeat, its sluggish rhythm the only thing breaking the monotony of his situation.

He couldn’t see what was happening in the outside world. There were only impressions of light and colour. Light blue in his upper field of vision, a darker shade in the middle, shapes and forms that had no meaning.

There wasn’t any sound in here.

He wondered if he was dead, and this was where the Witch had sent him.

He wondered if his ice block would ever melt, or if it would stay cold forever, trapping him there for all eternity.

He wondered how much time had passed already. His mind wasn’t…it wasn’t working very well. He knew he should be afraid, should be terrified, should be out of his mind with dread. Should try to fight this. There was something, no, someone he needed to get to.

But he wasn’t afraid. It was there, the fear, muted behind this wall of indifference, but Steve couldn’t really feel it. He couldn’t feel anything. Anything but the cold. It was…not nice. But it was, and he was in there. He was.

He was slow, and cold, and probably dying, but he couldn’t find the energy to care.

He thought it wasn’t so bad, to spend the rest of his days in this place. Held. Surrounded.

No tricky feelings. No worrying thoughts. Nothing.

Just the ice.

* * *

Steve might have slept, he might have died, but something brought him back. The light had changed colour.

Odd, he thought. Ice shouldn’t be yellow. Or green. It was blue, and white, and black, and grey, but not green.

Maybe he was losing his eyes to the cold.

It was pretty, though.

Steve’s world lighted up, a streak of orange, a flash of yellow, an explosion of turquoise.

There were sounds, too, he realised, muffled by the thick wall of ice around him, but there. Deep sounds that reverberated through his prison, the vibrations traveling all the way to his core. Thrumming sounds. They had to be very loud, for Steve to feel them.

He wondered what was happening outside of the ice.

His heart was still beating, but it was getting difficult concentrating enough to wait for each beat. How many…?

The colours were pretty. Steve liked blue the most though.

A thud moved him slightly.

Oh.

Someone was…

The ice groaned around him. There was a thud again, followed by the bluest light Steve had ever seen.

The light fractured and shattered in front of him. Was light supposed to…oh, it was the ice.

There was a crack right in front of Steve’s face, and Steve didn’t know what to do with that. He’d been so sure that he would spend the rest of his existence in the ice, what was he supposed to do now? What if he couldn’t live without it? It had seeped into his pores, it was part of him now.

There was green again, a lot of it, and then blue again.

The crack widened. Something was coming closer, Steve thought. He couldn’t really—

The ice exploded around him, and Steve was on his back, his body shivering uncontrollably, gasping for air.

With the ice, the numbing film was gone from his mind.

_—I was trapped I couldn’t breathe I was dying Oh God am I still dying where am I how much time has passed who got me out of here I need to warn Tony I can’t feel my hands I can’t feel my hands I can’t—_

Steve was terrified.

He was trembling so badly that he couldn’t even stand up without help from his shield. He needed… He was so cold _, so cold_. His hands were almost blue.

Around him, the flashes of light were everywhere. The explosions echoed in the hallway, making an unbearable noise. It was too much, too much input, it was all happening too fast.

He needed… he needed something warm, a nice fire, and maybe something to eat, something to hold so that his hands would just _stop shaking_ —

Something was thrown into him, sending him back to the floor. The thing, no, the person, was a dark blur. It moved away again, almost too fast for Steve to follow. He stayed on his knees on the ground, watching his hands. They were stained now, where they’d held the person. Stained dark with blood.

They were hurt badly.

Steve picked up a feather from the ground. It was shiny, black and smooth.

It reminded him of Tony.

He loved Tony, he should say that to him the next time they—

_TONY!_

Tony was… Tony was here!

Steve needed to focus. He didn’t have time to deal with the ice, he could do that later, right now he needed to—

He needed to focus. To concentrate. He needed to put away his feelings, and emotions, and _fight_.

He breathed in, out, and looked at his surroundings.

Tony and the Witch were fighting in the air, both injured, although Tony was in a far worse state than her. She was in her wasp-like form again, this time as big as Tony. He was mostly human, but his arms had turned into wings, and he had more feathers than bare skin.

He was bleeding heavily.

Steve gripped his shield tight enough to stop his trembling and jumped into the fight. He couldn’t reach them, high as they were, but he got an idea when he accidentally ran into a stray spell ray.

Instead of hurting him, the spell bounced back from his shield. His shield could protect him from magic as well, then. He could use that to his advantage. If he managed to get Tony behind him, he could act as a mirror and wall at the same time, reflecting the Witch’s spells, protecting Tony.

He shouted at Tony.

“Tony! I’ll cover you!”

He didn’t turn his head, or even shout back, but he started directing the fight lower. Bit by bit, they descended, until they were nearly at ground level. It was still moving very fast, but Steve could keep up with them now, he was strong and quick enough for that. He jumped between the two just as the Witch directed one of her electric rays at Tony. The ray bounced back and hit her in the chest. She howled, convulsing, and Steve ran to Tony. He was barely standing now, every inch of his skin covered in scales or feathers now. His breathing was ragged, but he batted Steve’s hands away when he tried to support him, or at least give him a hand.

“Steve! Are you okay? I came as fast as I could , oh God, you’re so cold—”

Steve cut him off, he wasn’t important, what was important was Tony’s health.

“I’m fine. What about you?”

Tony looked at him, bewildered.

“What about me? What about _you_?”

They were reminded they weren’t alone when the Witch screeched behind them. Steve shoved Tony to the ground, covering him with his body, and covering the both of them with the shield. The onslaught of spells was so intense that his teeth rattled from the impact.

“It protects us from spells! I’ll cover you, and you’ll attack, okay?”

Tony nodded, his eyes taking on that otherworldly glow again. He was gearing up for something big, Steve knew.

Tony stayed that way for a long time, immobile under the shield while Steve did his best to stave off the Witch’s increasingly frantic offensive. Tony’s hair was standing on end, floating around his head. His eyes were completely taken over by the electric blue glow, the signature colour of his magic. His hands were nothing more than claws, his legs bent oddly. He was transforming into a monstrous human-sized raven. But that meant that he was using his magic, all of it, every last reserve. This was his last attempt at stopping the Witch. If Tony failed, Steve knew they’d both die.

Steve trusted Tony. He could do it.

When Tony was nothing more than a feathery hull to contain his magic, when the air around him was crackling with energy, Steve dived to the side, and Tony burst apart.

He was only light, a bright beam aimed at the Witch, who was too close to dodge it. It hit her head on. She managed to deflect a part of it, but Steve jumped in and used the shield to reflect it back to her.

She shrieked, an ear-piercing scream, and flared up. Her yellow magic exploded around her, forming a supernova of energy, but Steve held his ground, and Tony stayed strong, his body rising into the air, still pouring a deluge of blue light towards her.

Her magic shattered into a million little sparks that disappeared into thin air.

The force of the explosion threw Steve off his feet, hurling him at the nearest wall, and he braced himself, curled into a ball and hoped that the shield would protect him from the worst.

But he never touched the wall. He was in Tony’s arms instead, Tony who was a mass of feathers, but still had the same eyes, and told him in a rough but so, so soft voice:

“I’ve got you.”

They floated to the ground together, Tony with a hand securely around Steve’s waist. They walked to the place where the Witch had collapsed into herself.

There was nothing left, nothing but a single wasp. It buzzed slightly, flying towards the nearest window.

“She’s inoffensive now. She’ll live the rest of her life as a wasp. I hope she’ll find her rest.”

Tony’s strength left him, the last of his magic aura exhausting itself to give him his human appearance again. His legs gave out.

Steve caught him before he could fall. He looked down at Tony and smiled.

“I’ve got you, too.”

They’d made it. It was over.

Steve laughed out loud, hugging Tony close, revelling in the slighter man against him. They’d done it! The Witch was gone, she hadn’t managed to kill Tony, they could still make it out—

The marks were still on Tony’s chest.

Why—How—she was, she was defeated, the curse should have been broken, how could this—

He stared at his own hand, his own, thin and sickly hand, and suddenly he felt Tony’s weight again, felt every ache in his joints and muscles.

The Witch’s magic wasn’t gone, their curses were still very much active.

They needed to go back to the castle, find a way to end the curses, maybe they could ask miss Potts now that there wasn’t the looming threat of the Witch anymore. But how were they going to home? Steve couldn’t carry Tony, and Tony could barely stand, and…

“Tony. Can you ask Jarvis for a suit? Can he do that?”

Tony looked down at him and put a hand against his head.

“Yeah, I…He should be able to send one. I’ll need to carry you, we don’t have enough energy for two suits. Our magic is at pretty much zero now.”

They helped each other to the entrance of the castle, sitting in the sand until the familiar whine of the suit reached them. Tony let it embrace him, and as soon as he was surrounded by it, he stood straighter. Steve suspected the suit was the only thing holding him standing.

He put one arm behind Steve’s knees, the other under his shoulders, and lifted him. This was a quite familiar hold, although they had changed places this time.

The flight back was quiet, Steve almost dozing off from exhaustion, safe in Tony’s iron arms.

They were met by James at the moving castle. He was better, still pale, but he had the energy that Steve and Tony lacked. He was clearly worried, asking about what had happened, what they’d done to look like this. Tony didn’t say anything, just sat on the chair by the fireplace, watching Jarvis and whispering to him.

Jarvis was looking even worse than when Steve had left him. He was just glowing faintly, his core exposed by the lack of flames. He pulsed gently, the soothing pulse of the blue glow enough to make Steve want to sleep again. He was _exhausted_.

James helped Steve down onto the couch, asking him about the Witch.

“She’s gone. We had a fight, we won. Her magic is still there though, as you must have noticed. I don’t know why, Tony hasn’t told me. Maybe he doesn’t know either.”

James lit up at the news, even as he frowned at his still-shimmering left arm.

“I can’t feel her in my head anymore. This. This is good. How can I help?”

Steve just wanted to sleep.

“Just… Don’t let anyone in, okay? You’re our only line of defence is someone attacks us.”

As soon as he’d said the words, Steve fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

He was woken up by the sound of a door closing. He blinked, tried to remember where he was, and sat up straight when he realised that James wasn’t in the kitchen. Had he gone out? Was there something wrong?

He turned to look at the fireplace, where Tony was sound asleep in his chair, his head dangerously close to Jarvis’ core. Jarvis was sleeping too, and when Steve looked at the door, it was closed, the circle on the green part.

Maybe James just needed to take a walk.

It wouldn’t hurt to check, though.

Steve took his shield in one hand and opened the door with the other.

It was misty outside, the grass hidden beneath a thick layer of floating droplets. The castle wasn’t moving, which made sense if Jarvis was sleeping. Still, it was the first time the hills were entirely silent.

Apart from the hushed conversation James was having with…

With someone tall and lanky, draped in cloth that looked expensive and—was that the scarecrow?

Steve approached warily. Had the scarecrow managed to catch up to the castle once again? Why wasn’t it attacking James? And how was James even talking with it? But more importantly, _why_ was he speaking to it? What did the scarecrow have to say?

As he came nearer, he realised that the scarecrow was emitting sounds, but sounds that he couldn’t place, that weren’t words. James seemed to understand him, though, speaking to it normally.

“…I’m sure they’ll let you in once they know who you are. We just have to ask Steve, he’s the one in charge of protecting the castle—I know, I know, but he’ll listen if Tony asks him to—he’ll understand, he’s just fierce about—oh.”

James turned around to see Steve, most likely because the scarecrow had warned him.

“Do you two…do you two know each other?”

Steve would never have thought that he would one day ask a weredog if he was friends with a scarecrow, but here they were.

“We met at the Witch’s castle. He’s not a scarecrow, he’s actually another man that she cursed. I think he managed to slip away with me, but I don’t recall what happened very clearly. He says he’s been trying to enter the castle, that there is something he needs there.”

Steve stared at the scarecrow. That was a man? That’d been cursed?

Had the scarecrow been trying to get help all this time?

And Steve had smacked him with a pan and with the shield both times he’d been close enough to the castle to even try to enter it.

Steve knew he was red as a tomato by now.

“I’m…I’m very sorry, I thought you were trying to break in.”

The scarecrow bowed slightly. It didn’t look that threatening, now that it wasn’t trying to force its—his?—way through the castle’s door. Steve decided that he would let the scarecrow in. If he was telling the truth, he could help him, and if not, if push came to shove, he could always use his trusted shield again. It had proven a reliable weapon.

Steve bowed back at the scarecrow.

“Please come in, Mr. scarecrow.”

He felt ridiculous saying that, but the least he could do was to be polite to the poor man.

They entered the castle together, Steve careful to put himself between Tony and the scarecrow. Tony was still sleeping, he was vulnerable. Steve would protect him. He trusted James to be on his guard as well.

The scarecrow hopped around a bit, seemingly looking for something. He leaned in towards several shelves, fluttered around the kitchen, all the while making little impatient sounds.

Finally, he inched closer to the fireplace. Steve stood in his way, arms crossed.

“If you want something from the mantelpiece, tell me, and I’ll bring it to you. Don’t come closer.”

The scarecrow mumbled something at James, who translated:

“If there’s a skull, he would like to have it.”

The human skull, was that what he was looking for? Could it be a metaphor for his death, or his human part that was dead now that he was a scarecrow? Anyhow, it wouldn’t hurt Tony to give over that skull.

Steve took the skull and showed it to the scarecrow.

“Is this what you’re looking for? What do you want to do with—”

As soon as the scarecrow touched the skull, they fused into one in a cloud of orange smoke. When the smoke cleared, there was a man standing in front of Steve, as tall as Tony, his black hair slicked back elegantly, hints of white strands at his temples. He had a tasteful goatee that reminded Steve of Tony’s moustache. He was clad in dark blue clothes, the dark red robes he’d had as a scarecrow transformed into a grand cloak that was swaying lightly around him.

He smiled at Steve, face pale but his grey eyes full of life.

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers, I am much obliged.”

It took an embarrassingly long time for Steve to realise that the man facing him was none other than the former Sorcerer Supreme, Stephen Strange.

He’d been cursed instead of killed, just like Steve, James and Tony. And Steve had been the one to deny the cure to his curse. He stammered out a greeting, unsure of what he should say, what he should do in the presence of yet another powerful sorcerer.

He really was lucky that Tony didn’t exude this air of importance. He’d never have dared to talk to him otherwise.

Stephen Strange smiled again, and said:

“I could help Tony gain his energy back. We need to talk about the Witch’s fire demon.”

As if summoned by the words, Tony groaned and woke up.

“Whas happening—whozzat.”

He blinked tiredly at Strange, then snapped himself awake once he realised who was standing in front of him.

“Stephen! You’re alright!”

They embraced, Tony hugging the sorcerer fiercely, and Steve tried to quash his jealousy.

“Tony, you’re…less than alright. I need to speak to you about Ultrocifern. She’s not with the Witch, I haven’t been able to find her.”

Steve stood there as they sat down at the table, talking urgently about Ultr—Ultrosomething. Who was that? Was it even relevant to their current situation? And what was her connection to the Witch?


	17. Chapter 17

This was a conversation that Steve couldn’t take part in. He looked over at James, who was watching his left arm pensively. Steve could understand. It’d been so easy for Strange to change back into his old self, he’d just needed to touch a skull. Or was it his own skull? That was…uncomfortable to think about. But Steve had no idea how he could break his own curse, or James’, for that matter. Tony’s curse wasn’t going away on its own either. From where he stood, the marks were clearly visible on Tony’s throat and even his face. He didn’t have long, even if the third condition of his curse wasn’t met before the end of the day.

Maybe Strange would be able to help him. Maybe they were talking about it right this instant.

Should Steve leave? Should he go back to his room and draw until he was needed again? There wasn’t much he could do here. Maybe he could speak to James, learn a little more about how he met Natasha.

But that felt so unimportant next to the looming curse above Tony’s head.

There was a knock at the door.

Behind him, Tony and Strange were showing no signs of having heard anything. James was still frowning at his arm. Steve supposed he would be the one to open the door. He grabbed his shield, almost as an afterthought, and opened the door just as the conversation behind him grew heated.

“You’ve been seeing her? Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I handled it! It was hard finding her, okay, she’d changed name and appearance, but I thought that I could learn about how she’d taken over Janet’s heart. Besides, Janet was growing weak, there was something going on. Jocasta was eating her heart from within, and it’s not like I’m exactly looking forward to that happening to Jarvis and me!”

Miss O’Casta was at the door, a hopeful smile on her face. What did she want now? Steve scowled as he tried to listen to the conversation behind him. What where they saying about hearts?

“She could have taken your heart at any moment, Tony!”

“I know, I know, but it’s fine, I haven’t let her into the castle, she can’t get to Jarvis. It’s fine, we can just go visit her and defeat her together.”

Steve turned back to miss O’Casta, whose smile had grown. Steve couldn’t understand how Tony could even be interested in a woman that unnerving. Joy, her name was, but she didn’t instil any into—

Joy O’Casta.

Jocasta.

No.

He stared in horror as the full implications of what he’d just heard dawned on him.

She was the Witch’s fire demon, and she was after Tony’s heart, or Jarvis, and Steve had _let her in already._

He tried to slam the door closed, his throat choked up from the panic, but she held it open effortlessly, her fingers gripping the wood hard enough to splinter it. Steve turned away from her, tried to warn the others, but before he could move, she’d jumped past him, sinking her claws into James’ arm, her body shifting until it was more fire than flesh. Tony and Strange surged up from their seats when they saw her, but she had a claw-like hand circling James’ throat, constricting his breathing, digging into his skin. His chest was heaving, and he scrabbled uselessly at her arms, burning himself in the process. She burned a bright red-orange, the glow much stronger than Jarvis’ feeble blue.

Jocasta leered at them.

“Hello, dears. I was hoping to avoid a real fight, but the cat’s out of the bag now. Thank you for letting me in, Steve.”

Tony’s fingers twitched, and Strange arms tensed, but Jocasta tightened her grip on James in warning. Blood was seeping through her claws, the only sound his pants for air and the crackling of the fire demons.

Jarvis flared up briefly, and a loud noise came from the workshop before a dozen suits of armour burst into the kitchen, their palms and eyes glowing, ready to attack. Jocasta sneered as they converged around her, arms raised and poised to fire.

Steve inched closer, trying to get a good opening to help James.

Tony smirked through his pain.

He lifted his hand, and—

A lot of things happened at the same time. Strange shouted something, Tony cried out and clutched at his chest, and the armours descended upon Steve, Strange, and Tony. In mere seconds, they were immobilised, the hard palms of the suits digging into their heads and chest.

If they moved but an inch, the suits would fire.

In the middle of the kitchen, Jocasta stood triumphant, Jarvis’ fire almost out behind her. She tossed James to the ground, where he was immediately restrained by a suit of armour. Steve tried to shake his own suit off, but it was like trying to escape iron bars.

Where the suits of armour had glowed a familiar blue, their lights were now a menacing red, the same as Jocasta’s fire. She had taken control of the suits.

“You can’t hope to beat me with your magic, Tony, Jalcifervis. You’re way too weak to accomplish anything. Look at the ease with which I took control of your armours, it’s laughable.”

She paced leisurely, holding her arms out.

“Imagine my surprise when I answered the door one day and you were there! Beautiful as always, just waiting for the curse to sink into you. It had taken me so long to slip the first half of it through the door, but I didn’t even need to try with the second half, since you came to me! I was delighted, even more so when you started flirting with me. Here you were, oblivious to whom I was, and you were even trying to spend more time with me. I just had to play hard to catch, until you invited me home and I could take your heart.”

She paused, gloating.

“Poor Janet’s heart was getting weak, you see, and I needed a replacement. She was useful, sure, but she’s never quite had the temperament needed to do the things I wanted her to do. She was evil, and cruel, but there was only so much I could do with her. You took care of her for me, good riddance. Your heart, though, Tony… I’ll be able to do great things with it. A troubled past, the right motivation, guilt, lies, it’s perfect. To think that you would have given it to me, had I accepted your offers earlier! You fall in love too easily, it’s always been a fault of yours.”

Tony struggled weakly, gasping when the palm of the suit dug into his chest. He looked at Steve, then, a resolve in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Jocasta. I never fell in love with you. I knew who you were from the start. I was flirting with you because I was searching for Stephen, and you were the only one who could give me clues apart from Janet. I’ve only fallen in love twice, and the first time was Janet.”

He swallowed, looking at Steve again, his face pale, and Steve’s heart stuttered. He hadn’t forgotten that almost-kiss, hadn’t forgotten how Tony had looked at him. Could it be…

“I never loved you, Jocasta, because I was already head over heels for Steve. You never stood a chance.”

Steve gasped. This was everything he’d wanted to hear, everything he’d never dared to hope. He breathed out in relief. The last uncertainty about Tony’s errands had been cleared: all this time, when Steve had thought he was off flirting or fleeing his responsibilities, he’d had feelings for Steve only, and he’d been looking for Strange.

He hadn’t used the safest method, though. Did he have a death wish?

Tony’d been looking for Strange for all this time, even though he’d said to the King that he didn’t want to. Yet another example of Tony saying something and doing the exact opposite. All his lies had been uncovered, Steve realised. About why he was seeing Natasha, about him eating hearts, about his so-called promiscuity, his so-called egoism, and now about the reason why he’d been visiting Jocasta, and where his heart really lay.

Tony was, for the first time since Steve had met him, an honest man.

Steve jerked in the suit’s hold as he realised what that meant.

Tony, by confessing that he hadn’t flirted seriously with Jocasta, had just fulfilled the last condition of his curse.

Steve cried out.

“No!”

But Tony was already convulsing, the marks spreading over his whole body, until his skin was covered by their black mass. He jerked silently, then fell limp. Across from him, Jarvis cried out as his flame died. The only part left of him was his core, black as coal, a very faint blue glow the only sign that he was alive.

Tony and Jarvis fell unconscious at the exact same time, and Steve saw the last piece of the puzzle.

Every time Tony’d been injured or tired, it had reflected on Jarvis.

Their magic was tied, had the same colour, they shared it.

Tony had given Jarvis something that he didn’t have.

Janet had had her heart taken over by Jocasta.

Jocasta needed another heart because the Witch of the Waste’s heart was too weak.

The rumour about Tony eating other people’s hearts.

Tony’s frequent references to his heart.

The way Jarvis was pulsing like one.

All the clues were pointing to the same conclusion: Tony had given Jarvis his heart.

Steve finally had the key to break the contract. He could free Jarvis and Tony if he gave Tony his heart back, but it wouldn’t matter if they were dead.

He had to save Tony. He had to. He strained all he could against the armour, but it held strong, restricting him further. Jocasta cast a disinterested glance at Steve before turning back to Tony’s prone body.

“The curse has been fulfilled. This will make it easier.”

She bent down and picked Jarvis, Tony’s heart, up. It throbbed weakly in her hand, the black and blue almost swallowed by the orange-red fire. She smiled, her mouth opening wide, her jaw unhinging until it was a gaping maw.

There was nothing human about Jocasta anymore. She was half fire, half metal. Her flesh had melted away, revealing a metallic frame that bore an eery resemblance to Tony’s suits of armour, if they had been the colour of silver, and pooling and melting in the fire.

Steve thought back to his nightmare.

Her maw was open wide, a hideous grin that took over her whole face. Her tongue licked Tony’s heart, and Steve knew that she was about to eat it.

He couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t allow it. He needed to protect Tony’s heart, needed to save it.

He strained all he could against the armour, bringing his head back as violently as he could. It was enough to startle the armour into loosening its hold. Steve kicked himself free and dived for his shield. Jocasta whirled around, the heart still in her hand, and spit a stream of fire towards Steve. He managed to hide behind the shield, the heat so intense that he could feel his hair curl.

He jumped into the air, whirling with the shield, kicking the suit of armour that was holding James in its chest, sending it careening backwards into the one holding Strange. Steve landed in a crouch, and when he saw that Jocasta was bringing the heart closer to her mouth, he didn’t think.

He threw the shield as hard as he could, a single thought coursing through his mind.

The shield severed Jocasta’s hand, ricocheted against the wall, and flew back into Steve’s hand. Steve didn’t stop to think about the impossibility of what had just happened: his strategy had worked, and now he needed to kill Jocasta.

Around him, the remaining suits of armour where busy fighting Strange and James, who were fighting back to back, holding their own. James was ripping into them with his arm, the unnatural strength working to his advantage, while Strange made circular motions with his hands, conjuring up portals and spells in bright orange sparks.

Tony’s heart was lying unprotected on the ground, a metre away from Jocasta’s severed hand. Jocasta herself was scrambling for the heart, her shape morphing into something more animalistic to gain traction.

Steve collided with her, shield first. She was strong, but he was strong too, and he had the height advantage. He managed to throw her off her course, slamming her against the wall. She shrieked, spitting flames, the claws on her hand burning into Steve’s skin.

He lifted his shield and slammed it into her, the wall creaking with the force of his blow. His shield could damage her, he knew. He lifted it over his head, driving the edge into her chest, again and again, and the wall crumbled behind her. They tumbled into the hole, finding themselves in the hills, rolling away from the damaged castle. Steve pushed himself up and straddled Jocasta. She was weaker now, further away from the Waste and further away from her home. He knew his only chance was to overpower her physically, to not give her the time to cast magic.

She managed to strike him in the middle of the chest, a bright burning agony that made his heart stutter. It was a terrible pain, white-hot and searing, as if she was branding a star right into his chest.

She pushed him off him, and he fell to his side, his body screaming at him to find something cold, something hard, anything to stave off the pain, anything to make it stop—

It was only instinct that prevented Steve from getting impaled on her hand. He rolled away at the last second, the space where his throat had been just a second ago now a charred hole.

He couldn’t lose his concentration now.

He screamed in agony and rage as he got himself to his feet, using his shield to deflect her blows. He had to make it quick before he lost consciousness.

He tackled her to the ground, his clothes catching fire as he fell on top of her. She lit up, her fire becoming impossibly hotter, and Steve took his shield in both his hands, bringing it down with all his might.

Her scream echoed around them as he cut through her chest, reaching inside of her, until the edge of the shield hit the blackened lump that had been Janet’s heart once, and cracked it straight through the middle.

Jocasta died with a garbled moan.

Steve stood up, panting heavily, his chest metaphorically on fire, and watched as her flames died, as her frame melted into the ground, until all that was left of her were the two halves of Janet’s heart.

He’d done it. Tony was safe. Tony was…

No. The curse. He had to see if the curse was gone, had to give Tony his heart back.

He staggered to the castle, one hand pressed against his chest— _That’s going to turn into one hell of a scar,_ he thought half-coherently— the other gripping the shield so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Inside, the castle was slowly crumbling, the paint on the walls peeling off, the bricks turning to dust, the walls caving in. Tony was still dying. What was he supposed to do?

Strange and James were both injured, Strange cradling one of his hands close to his chest, James holding a rag against his temple. Around them, the suits of armour lay unmoving, some of them destroyed, others unmarred.

In the middle of the kitchen lay Tony, immobile, the marks still very much there. He was still breathing, but each exhale was a rattling whisper.

Steve dropped to his knees next to Tony, grabbing his hand. It was almost as cold as the ground. Steve stifled the panic, looking around for Jarvis. He found him in a corner, his glow even fainter than earlier. Steve took him in hands, feeling the faint beating of the heart.

Tony’s heart was literally in his hands now.

What should he do? How did he give Tony his heart back? Was there an incantation needed? Could Steve break the contract while both its signatories were unconscious? God, what was he supposed to _do_?

He looked around, desperate for help.

Strange was the one to give it to him. He croaked out:

“Put his heart back in his chest. If you believe in it, it’ll work. Otherwise, they’ll both die.”

Steve looked at the life in his hands, looked at his love on the ground, and didn’t hesitate.

He could bring life to objects. He could will his shield to follow his command. He just needed to _believe_ that he could save Tony.

He pushed the heart against Tony’s chest, shouting:

“Let this heart and this star have another thousand years!”

His fingers met skin, and a blinding blue light illuminated the kitchen. When it died out, Steve’s hands were splayed on Tony’s chest, a bright star floating above them.

Steve stared at Jarvis, and Jarvis stared back, made out of a myriad of colours, so powerful he was almost blinding.

He was free again.

He floated higher and higher, almost until he touched the ceiling, bathing the whole kitchen in his ethereal brightness. He laughed then, a tinkling laugh, and swirled around.

**“I’m free! You freed us!”**

Steve felt his heart surge with hope. He looked down, right into Tony’s unwavering blue stare. Steve held his breath. Was he—had he done everything right? Was Tony alright?

Tony put a hand on his chest, looking down.

“I feel—there’s a weight in my chest.”

Steve smiled at Tony.

“A heart’s a heavy burden.”

Tony’s eyes widened, and Steve could see every emotion that played in them. Surprise, incredulity, gratitude, joy, and hope. Tony pushed himself up, helped by Steve, and his face lit up when he saw Jarvis.

“Jarvis! We made it!”

He laughed, pressing at his chest, then looked at Steve, and his smile grew warm and fond, sending a thrill through Steve’s heart.

“I’m glad to see you’re yourself again, Steve. Small you was stunning, but this is the real you.”

Steve looked down at himself and laughed when he saw that he had his old body back. The Witch’s curse was gone, just as Jarvis had told Steve.

“You’re right. I’m the perfect height to hug you, now.”

With those words, he buried Tony in his arms, pressing his face into his neck, and breathed in, letting the tension of the last months release as he reassured himself that Tony was, really, going to be okay.

Tony hugged him back just as fiercely, his strong arms fitting perfectly against Steve’s back.

When they let go, Tony looked at him, a little uncertainly, and said with a lopsided smile:

“You gave me my heart back, Steve. I’ll always be grateful for that. But now that I have it, and I can do what I want with it, my only wish is to give it to you. Will you accept it?”

He put Steve’s hand on his heart, and Steve could feel the healthy beat under his palm. Steve curled his hand into a fist and put his other hand on Tony’s cheek.

“Of course I will, but only if you accept mine in exchange. I love you too, you know.”

Tony’s relieved laugh was the best thing Steve had heard in his life. The only way this could be better was if they kissed right here, right now.

Nothing was stopping them, Steve realised. No curse, no Witch, no impending doom.

Steve looked at Tony, who looked right back, eyes twinkling, and beamed at him:

“I say we kiss to seal the deal.”

Steve laughed and leaned in to meet Tony halfway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end of this story.   
> Thank you to all the kind and invested comments, it was a pleasure seeing your thoughts and reactions to this story. Writing it was a fun experience, especially merging the two universes together. I hope it was just as fun to read. Come find me on [tumblr](https://oluka.tumblr.com/), and who knows, maybe I'll draw some more for this fic <3  
> (or maybe one of you wants to draw or write something in this universe? because I'd love to see it!)
> 
> Much love from me to all of you.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll post art that goes with the fic. You can reblog the cover picture [here](https://oluka.tumblr.com/post/628172242887557120/steve-has-the-great-misfortune-of-being-the-eldest) on tumblr.
> 
> [Find me on tumblr](https://oluka.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> Comments make my day <3


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